Harry Potter and the Greater Good
by Forensica X
Summary: He was gone. Dead. Because of him. But the Order was wrong. It wasn't just their war anymore. It had stopped being their war long ago. Harry saw the strings, and he would no longer play the puppet. AU as of year six. UNDER MAJOR CONSTRUCTION - SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
1. Letters

Disclaimer: All things you recognize from JK Rowling's books are hers. I make no money. This is purely for my entertainment.

A/N: So, I've left that horrible place in my life where I felt the need to express the darkness in my life through dark writing. Therefore, I shall be changing many details as I make major edits. I do encourage you to read through. My Petunia and Vernon will not be nice people, however. Anyone capable of locking a little boy away in a cupboard for ten years of his life is certainly capable of much worse.

Thanks to EternaLegend of Deviantart for permission to use her beautiful art as our cover image. See it here: art/Harry-Potter-128725046

Please review! Happy reading!

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Chapter One: Letters

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On a hellishly hot and humid street in the village of Little Whinging, below a white windowsill, behind a perfectly groomed hydrangea bush, crouched the prone figure of a thin, black-haired boy. He absently scrubbed a droplet of sweat away from his brow as he stared once more at the crumpled parchment clutched in his hand. The black and silver seal of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black heading the missive blurred and began to run as the grey asphalt-scented sky let loose its first drops of rain.

The young man continued to gaze at the document even as the rain turned into a downpour and the ground beneath him muddied. His wiry, untameable raven hair stuck to his forehead and ears, and his too-big shirt and belted jeans clung to his skin and weighed him down, but he did not stir. Indeed, if anyone had been able to spy the boy between the hydrangeas and wall, they would have thought him either dead or insane.

But despite his catatonic appearance, Harry Potter was far from reaching the River Styx. In fact his mind was a whirlwind of activity and emotion as he mentally reviewed the words that had previously graced the crumpled parchment.

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry that we did not have much time together. Buck up. I am happily arm-in-arm with prongs. My only hope is that I went out in style. If you do happen to be moping about, I hope that you at least find the time to set off a package of filibusters to celebrate my departure from this world. They were a marauder favourite. _

_I have left you absolutely everything – my title, my properties, Kreacher (though I wish I could spare you that nuisance) and a secret that I could not reveal to you while living. I wish to leave you the truth, Harry, so that you may have a choice. I know that Dumbledore has told you many things and has left much more to guesswork on your part. If you want to know everything – the truth without the old man's filter – then go to Gringotts no later than your birthday. Take Hermione, and only Hermione, with you in secret. I hope you will understand why I beg this of you. In any case, the goblins, in compliance with my last requests of them, will not allow anyone else entry into my vaults – now yours._

_Take care, prongslet. I love you. Be happy._

_Sirius_

By now, the foot of heavy parchment had become illegible. The previously pristine white surface was smeared with faded bluish-black ink. The colour continued to bleed until the crumpled mass resembled a wet piece of newsprint rather than the all-important document it had once been. Harry drew his knees to his chest as he idly fingered the edge of the soaked paper. He could hear its words spoken in his head as if by Sirius himself, but the meanings eluded Harry. He could only feel the guilt weighing on his shoulders and a horrible emptiness in his chest. The latter was not an entirely unfamiliar sensation. He often felt a similar, though much less intense ache when he thought about his parents. That intensity, too, brought on another wave of guilt, but Sirius was the closest person to a real family member that he had ever known. And Harry had caused his death.

The young man rose to his hands and knees, crawled out from behind the hydrangea bush, and walked the few short steps to the front door of number four Privet Drive.

Inside the perfectly appointed, brick, cookie-cutter house, Petunia Dursley rose from the sofa to glance down the hall at the door.

"Is that you? Where have you been? Dudley will be arriving home soon so I expect that you'll be getting to the cleaning now," Petunia said in her nasally voice as Harry walked into view. Her nose wrinkled at his soaked clothes and matted hair.

"And for goodness sake dry off and wipe your feet!" she commanded before turning back to the television.

Harry strode through the foyer and to the stairs without paying any mind to the order. In his room, Harry pulled his wand from his back pocket and set it on his bedside table. Sirius' letter followed in a crumpled mess, which he quickly smoothed and folded neatly. He figured Hermione could put it to rights when he next saw her. When exactly that would be, Harry had not a clue. In fact, since the beginning of the holidays he had heard scant little from his friends, and that much had come from Hermione's quill.

The letter had been sent via the national post and secreted quietly away when Uncle Vernon was otherwise occupied. Harry recalled that this was the first and only letter of muggle appearance that he had received in his life. Absent were an overabundance of stamps, or the smell of parchment, or a wax seal. And despite its sender, the letter really was completely ordinary in that its contents had referred most to Harry's mental condition rather than their shared knowledge of the magical. In fact, if the letter had not been on top of the stack, Harry would have mistakenly given it to his uncle.

Harry picked it up, his fingertips brushing over Hermione's neat script on the envelope before pulling the simple white stationery from inside.

_Friday, 21 June 1996_

_Dear Harry,_

_I charmed some envelopes before we left Hogwarts so your Uncle wouldn't notice if I needed to get in touch. I know you're angry with yourself, and probably at Ron and me, and I want to apologize. I'm so sorry._

_I know I didn't support you as much as I should have when you told me about your difficulty with certain things. It wasn't your fault and I'm sorry that I made light of your problems. Dumbledore knows that your relationship with Professor Snape is far from amicable. The more I think about it, the more I believe you were given the worst possible circumstances in which to accomplish anything at all. _

_It's no wonder that we were lured away considering the business with Snape, your distance with Dumbledore this year, and that Umbridge cow reigning over Hogwarts. Anyone in your shoes would probably have done the same._

_So please, try to forgive yourself for being their victim. You are blameless. I know you've done nothing but wallow since then. Stop it. You're not doing yourself any favours and Sirius would be disappointed that you're wasting your time feeling awfully. _

_I hope to see you soon. I haven't received word from Ron or the Order yet, but I think we'll probably end up at the Burrow soon. I've been told not to send Owl Post, and I think that even my regular post may be screened soon. I expect the Ministry has begun making inquiries into your location, as people have begun to suspect your importance in the coming war. Be careful Harry. _

_Please feel better._

_With Love,_

_Hermione Granger _

Reading through it again, Harry felt slightly less bitter about the absence of post. He remembered shamefully that he had exploded last year over that same situation. He walked to the nailed-down window and stroked Hedwig's gleaming feathers through the bars of her cage. She hooted a little mournfully as Harry gave her a sad smile.

"Sorry, girl. I know it's tough being locked in here all the time. We'll be out of here soon enough, I promise. At least they're letting me feed you," Harry sighed, rubbing his stomach. It had been at least two days since he had ingested more than bread with cheese. For Hedwig, he was allowed to take all the raw odds and ends from meats after preparing meals. But with the window nailed shut and the threat of death if her droppings or feathers found their way outside of her cage, Hedwig had been contained inside the bars since the beginning of the holidays.

"Boy! I don't hear the vacuum running!" Vernon bellowed from downstairs. "Do as your aunt says or you'll be in for a caning!"

It was with a sigh that Harry finally left his room in a dry shirt and oversized trousers and began the task his aunt had appointed him. Cleaning out Dudley's bedroom only took a short while, as Petunia cleaned it quite regularly. The vacuuming and dusting were menial and brief tasks. The time-consumer consisted of bleaching all of the surfaces in the bathroom. He was not given gloves and it did not take long for the chlorine to begin burning his skin. Half way through scrubbing the tub, Harry's fingertips began aching, and Harry dismissed his task as a bad job. Harry hosed down the tub, rinsed his hands, and returned to his bedroom to await his cousin's arrival. An hour passed before Harry heard his uncle calling for him to start dinner.

"Boy! Get your lazy arse down here!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. From the sound of his voice, Harry reckoned the walrus still occupied the loveseat in the sitting room, which gave him approximately thirty seconds before the blustering beast would start up the stairs. Harry sighed and swung his feet over the side of his bed. Hedwig gave a sympathetic hoot as Harry shut the door behind him.

Petunia Dursley's kitchen always sparkled with antibacterial cleanliness. The white tiled countertop shone brightly and reflected the overhead lights. Off-white linen curtains hung over the window above the sink, and a towel of the same colour sat beside the gleaming stainless steel basin. Wryly, Harry mused that Petunia's kitchen towel probably cost more than any article of clothing the Dursleys had bought him. Indeed, all of his fitted clothes probably amounted to maybe half of the price of that silly, crocheted dishrag.

Petunia Dursley chose that moment to walk into the kitchen and thrust a butcher-paper-and-twine wrapped parcel into his chest.

"I want it cut into medallions and served with a red wine reduction. Hurry, and don't you dare burn it," Petunia spat before turning and leaving the kitchen.

With a grumbling stomach, Harry unwrapped the luscious hunk of meat and began the task of cooking something that should be prepared over the course of a day rather than a short hour.

"And it had better be finished as soon as Dudley's ready. He'll be home in thirty minutes if the Perkisses are on time."

"Right," Harry griped as he set the oven and began slicing the leg of lamb.

Twenty minutes later, Harry had just finished putting the meat into the oven when the front door banged open and Petunia started her fluttery welcome.

"Diddy dums! Did you miss mummy, darling? How was this term at school? Did you do well in the boxing tourney? Tell me everything, Duddy!" she simpered as she embraced her large boy.

At the age of sixteen, Dudley Dursley resembled an overgrown bulldog. Harry recalled longingly the days in which Dudley's mass had been composed mostly of fat. Now, the boy stood as tall as Harry and possessed a hefty amount of muscle from the practice of his favourite sport: beating up weaker boys.

"Yeah, Mum," said the boy happily, allowing the waifish woman to usher him inside.

"Go on upstairs, Duddy dear, and put your things away. I'm making your favourite num nums tonight. It'll be on the table when you're ready, darling."

'Dammit,' Harry thought as he glanced at the kitchen timer.

The lamb wouldn't be ready for another twenty minutes at least, and he had just started the mash and greens. He started to rush, pulling the roasting medallions out of the oven and searing them hastily on the stovetop. He shoved them back in and haphazardlydoused them with sauce, earning himself a glancing burn on his wrist as he withdrew his arm from the oven's depths.

"Bollocks!" he hissed, clutching the seared flesh with a wince.

After a moment of internal cursing, he returned to his assigned task. He could attend to the wound later. Harry listened carefully as the sound of his cousin unpacking made muted thumps against the ceiling. As footsteps began making their way across the upstairs hall, Harry rushed to set the table and load plates with mashed potatoes, greens, and braised lamb. It was with a relieved sigh that he finally placed the serving dishes in the middle and filled glasses with the leftover red wine.

"Food's ready, Uncle Vernon," Harry called into the living room.

"About ruddy time," grumbled Vernon as he stomped through the doorway.

Harry wisely slid out of the way as Vernon took his seat at the formal dinner table. A few moments later, Dudley came tromping down the stairs with his mother hovering behind him. His expression belayed embarrassment at having the woman fawning over him – A first, in Harry's experiences with the two.

As Petunia and Dudley took their seats, Harry cleaned up the kitchen, washed dishes, and wrapped the discarded fats and trimmings in a napkin for Hedwig. The process of returning the kitchen to sparkling perfection took thirty minutes, after which he served iced cream and waited for his relatives to finish. It was then, and only then that he might be able to eat something more substantial than a bit of sliced bread. So Harry waited, thinking longingly of Hogwarts, of flying, of Hermione and Ron. His mind lingered a little on his female friend. In the past five years they had grown closer than brother and sister, and she had always done her best to offer advice and help. He frowned as he thought of her.

When had Hermione become beautiful to Harry? At the Yule Ball? That sounded about right. Before then, Harry had realized Hermione's gender (unlike a certain redhead), but the fact that she was _all female_ had not occurred to him. Her strength of mind and determination often distracted him from her femininity, especially since she so bravely went up against all the obstacles Ron and he managed to face throughout the course of their school years. Harry chewed a hangnail while images of a growing Hermione flicked through his mind's eye. From their first encounters on the Hogwarts Express until now, Hermione had ceased to look like the buck-toothed, bushy-haired little girl that Malfoy still accused her of being.

If Harry were honest with himself, he would have to admit that Hermione's hair was far from bushy in recent history. She had allowed her teeth to be corrected by Madam Pomfrey's expert hand back in third or fourth year, and her girlish figure had grown to suggest feminine curves, though her Hogwarts robes did much to hide that fact. Yes, if Harry were honest with himself, he would be forced to admit that Miss Hermione Granger had as much womanly effect on him as any other girl – perhaps more.

"Boy!"

Harry was pulled abruptly from his idle musings as Vernon's bellow rose to dangerous volume. Harry had failed to notice the quiet that had settled over the dinner table (excepting Dudley's continued attempt to drown himself in food).

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked cautiously as he came out from around the breakfast bar.

"What. Is. This?" Vernon growled, pronouncing each word like its own dour sentence.

He held up his fork, from which a long, dark hair hung limply. Harry pursed his lips, knowing that it was his aunt's hair, not his own, that had found its way into Vernon's food.

"A hair, obviously," Harry supplied, putting as much sarcastic venom as was possible into the three words.

"A hair. Now, why would I have a _hair_ in my dinner, Boy?" Vernon growled, his beady eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

Harry's hands trembled as he attempted to control his anger. Years of ridiculous, baseless abuse by this man had worn his patience thin. His experiences at Number Four, Privet Drive had been intolerable at best, but when added to his recent loss and the constant sense of oppressive danger hanging over him, Harry found it difficult to control the magic coursing through him. He could feel it like a pulse ringing in his ears: loud, and insistent, and explosive.

"I'm not sure, _Uncle_," Harry managed quietly. "Obviously it isn't mine."

"Is that so, boy?" Vernon said in mock levity. "Come here."

Harry did not move from his spot in the doorway.

"Come _here_," Vernon growled.

Harry glared, refusing to draw any nearer.

"It's not mine!"

Vernon struck out with his meaty hand, grasping Harry by the back of the neck. He forced his nephew's face into the plate of food so hard that the delicate china cracked at the impact. Harry remained silent as he felt his glasses break beneath his face as well as the sharp edge of the porcelain digging into his cheek. Vernon held the hair in front of Harry's face for him to see.

"This is unacceptable, boy! Your aunt and I took you in out of the goodness of our hearts and _this_ is how you repay us?! By putting foreign objects in our food? Littering your mangy hair in our mash? Well…"

The sound of Vernon Dursley's voice faded, giving way to the rush of blood in his ears. Harry could feel rather than hear it when his uncle's tirade came to a stop. The room vibrated. The china rattled and the lights flickered.

_Four years old. A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the parlour, boughs heavy with twinkle lights and shining ornaments. A few glazed ceramic frames decorated a branch here and there, all of them filled with photos of Dudley. Wrapping paper littered the floor around the tree, and Dudley sat with his pudgy legs by the fire, his stubby fingers pushing a shining toy train roughly around a hastily assembled track. Harry quietly approached the tree, looking underneath for any sign of a missed present. _

"_Aunt Petunia," he said softly, "Did Father Christmas forget me?"_

_The horse-faced woman looked down at Harry with pinched lips, her distaste obvious._

"_Of course not. Orphans don't get presents."_

"_What's an orphan?" _

"_Anyone who doesn't have parents," said Vernon, smiling cruelly. "Orphans aren't allowed to ask questions, either."_

_Harry fell silent and continued to pick up the discarded wrapping paper. He threw it all in a bin, walked back to his cupboard, and curled up on his mattress, holding back tears._

_Vernon and Petunia had always made it very clear they weren't his parents. He remembered calling Petunia 'mum' once, and she had smacked him with a wooden spoon for it. But he always hoped maybe his parents were somewhere, just not able to take care of him. Harry squinted into the dark, his small arms wrapping around his blanket. _

'_Wasn't there anyone that wants me?'_

_Six years old. The woman in front of the classroom shrieked as she caught her reflection in the rain-darkened window. Her hands fisted in her now vibrantly blue hair. Harry's eyes went wide with surprise and fear while the rest of the class laughed. The boy drudged back to Number Four, tripping twice over his too-long trousers. He arrived at the door with skinned knees and raw palms, a result of his nervousness. He was used to his clothes being too big, after all. The door flew open before he could reach up to turn the knob, and a woman's claw-like hand snatched his upper arm and dragged him inside. The small mattress in the closet under the stairs caught Harry as he was thrown into the darkness. _

"_Just you wait until Vernon gets home!" Petunia's voice screamed at him through the door. _

_Harry waited in darkness for hours, his stomach grumbling and his mouth dry with fear. The door slammed open and a meaty hand clamped down on Harry's wrist, twisting his arm painfully as he was bodily yanked from the cupboard. _

"_What did you do?" the walrus exploded, emphasizing each word with a mighty thwack of his belt against Harry's rear. _

"_N-nothing!" the boy cried helplessly, tears staining his drawn, reddened face._

"_Then what do you call that freakishness at school? Eh? Nothing, is it?" _

_The blows kept coming, until Harry could no longer speak for sobbing, his breath coming in ragged gasps of pain through clenched teeth._

_Nine years old. Harry clutched a stitch in his side as he ran around the corner, ducking down an alley. He could hear their heavy feet chasing after him, their raucous voices echoing off the pavement and brick. _

"_Get him!" _

"_He must have gone that way!"_

_Harry gasped, running faster, his eyes widening in fear as he neared the end of the alley. A chain-link fence blocked the way. He ran toward it, his eyes closed, feeling Dudley's hand brush the back of his shirt. _

_Suddenly, the boys were on the ground twelve feet below him, and he was perched on the roof of the school building. He laughed in relief. _

_He avoided walking home until it was nearly dark, the headmaster's note clenched in his fist. He was suspended for his 'dangerous' behaviour. He went to his cupboard, hoping that maybe they would let him alone. But as soon as the television program ended in the parlour, the cupboard door slammed open and a hand closed on the scruff of Harry's neck. They jerked the boy to attention, turned him around, and cornered him against the stairs. The head of Vernon's least favourite golfing club rained heavy blows on Harry's back, sides, and legs. _

_Be happy…_

Something snapped inside Harry as Sirius's words interrupted the painful memories, washing away the years of self-doubt, fear, and loneliness.

"Let. Go. Of. Me."

The hand on Harry's neck dropped away abruptly. The air felt cold as Harry stood straight and slung food off his face. The Dursleys had backed up against the wall opposite him as the vibrations grew louder and the light bulbs in the chandelier and in the kitchen burst with a shower of sparks.

"Do you remember that conversation you had with my lot?" Harry said in a low voice, his hands trembling with the effort to not lose his temper. The house had ceased shaking, for now.

"Now see here, they don't scare – "

"I am _done!_" shouted Harry. "Do you want to know what I've dealt with?! Do you want to know how bloody tiny you are, compared to what's out there? Compared to what I've seen?"

"You think _I'm _a freak? You think I'm the worst thing in your life? Do you watch the news, take the paper? That school with all the children missing, that woman and her little girls raped last week – All that destruction and horror you see is because of the monster I've fought and won against! You. Don't. Scare. Me."

Each word was met with a wince as the colour drained from the Dursleys' faces. Harry took another breath, noticing that air was charged. The table was littered with broken china, the small electric bulbs in the chandelier had burst, and the table seemed to be smoking slightly.

Harry looked into the faces of his only remaining family and unclenched his hands to wipe the remaining filth from his face.

"I'm leaving. You've been told what will happen when I do. I suggest you get the hell out before they come. They will come. And I'm tired of being told I have to prevent that. You never did anything remotely near as much for me."

With that, Harry left the room, stormed up the stairs, and retrieved his things. _So much for being his head, _he thought bitterly as he threw his most prized possessions into a rucksack and hoisted Hedwig's cage under his arm.

The door opened without Harry touching it, and Harry left Number Four.

An hour later, Harry stopped short. He had come to the bus terminal in the Little Whinging town square. His mind whirred as the anger left him. He was no longer a thirteen-year-old runaway. He was nearly an adult in the wizarding world, and he had a home at Grimmauld Place if nowhere else.

He knew better, now, too. He hadn't performed any spells. Just accidental magic. And no one had been hurt, so it was unlikely the ministry would come calling, and even less so that the Dursleys would report him. The only entity that would be after him was the Order. Harry bit his lip, trying to recall whether he'd seen Mrs. Figg on his way out.

Either way, he needed to make up his mind and choose a destination quickly.

The Burrow came to mind first, but Harry thought again to Sirius's letter. It was hard for him to believe anything bad about Ron. He knew very well that his best mate had anger and jealousy issues, but despite the occasional episode, he had always supported Harry in everything. Without Ron, Harry would not have known Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, or Arthur Weasley – all whom Harry regarded as his first real family. Even Ginny had made her way into Harry's heart in the role of sister. All else aside, it would not be easy to leave the Burrow and take care of the business Sirius had alluded to.

A bus passed on its way to the stop and Harry stood up straighter, feeling very much the fool. He would have to tell Hermione before he went anywhere else. In a flash, he was headed to a nearby bench, his truck and Hedwig in tow. Harry rummaged in the trunk for a moment, annoyed that his cracked lenses contorted his view, finally withdrawing Sirius' pocketknife. He unlocked Hedwig's cage quickly and coaxed her out to perch on his shoulder, before withdrawing a notebook and a biro.

Another moment of consideration and Harry went back to digging through the contents of his trunk. Finally his fingers brushed across his DA galleon.

"Hedwig," Harry called quietly. The owl nipped his ear affectionately as she waited for orders.

"I'm sending you to Hermione's. Don't go to Ron's unless I'm there. You can stay with Hermione if her mum and dad don't mind. If not, just stay out of sight for a while, OK?"

Hedwig gave Harry another affectionate nip on the ear as he penned his brief note.

_Hermione,_

_Pick a day and time to meet at Diagon Alley and notify me of the details. Do not reply by owl. Please take care of Hedwig if you can. Ron can't make it, so it'll just be us._

Harry paused, his eyes flicking over the text. Before he could stop himself, he penned another line.

_I can't wait to see you. I miss you. _

_-Harry_

With the completion of the note, Hedwig hopped down from Harry's shoulder and held her leg out helpfully. He attached the note and stood, stroking her feathers for a moment. He looked outside the pool of light cast by the streetlamp above him, his eyes scanning the darkness for movement.

His hand twitched to his pocket as something shifted in his peripheral vision.

"Go, Hedwig!" Harry hissed, as the owl took flight.

A volley of red light shot toward the ghost-like bird, barely missing her as she soared into the sky and out of view.

"How troublesome," a familiar voice sighed.

"Professor?" Harry frowned, trying to make out the speaker.

"_Stupefy._"

The man reached out and the thin boy collapsed into the man's arms. A wave of the wand, and the trunk and cage disappeared. With a _pop! _the pair disappeared from the street, leaving bus stop as deserted as before Harry's late-night arrival.

A/N: You've likely noticed that the rest of the story had disappeared. I will be reposting as edits are completed. I'm nearly through with 2 and will be posting through ch. 11 (a new chapter!) in the following two weeks. Sorry for the long wait, guys!

-Forensica X


	2. Gringotts

Disclaimer: All things you recognize from JK Rowling's books are hers. I make no money. This is purely for my entertainment.

A/N: I have made some significant changes to this chapter. My change in state of mind made me realize that the story is better served by the edits I have made. Overall plot shall not change.

Please review! Happy reading!

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Chapter Two: Gringotts

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"How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry groaned and sat up, groping blindly for his glasses. A hand helpfully offered the spectacles, and Harry blinked as the figure swam into focus.

"I took the liberty of repairing them for you," said Albus Dumbledore, his fingers steepled over his crossed knees.

"What are you doing here, Professor?" said Harry with no small measure of annoyance, rubbing his head. It felt as if someone had taken a cricket bat to it.

"I could ask what _you_ were doing last evening," sighed the old man. "I thought we had discussed the consequences of these little outbursts."

Dumbledore levelled Harry with an even stare over his half-moon spectacles, but Harry looked straight back at him.

"I was leaving, sir. The Dursleys don't want me to stay, and I don't want to waste however much life I have left being miserable with them."

"I think you'll find yesterday's argument to be quite behind them, Harry," said Dumbledore sternly. "It would please me greatly if you would put it out of your mind, as well."

"Did you _stun_ me, sir?"  
Harry, rubbing a hand over his aching head.

"I apologize, dear boy. There were others about who had much worse in mind for you. It was the most efficient method of returning you home without fuss."

Harry stared at his lap, his hands clenching in the threadbare duvet.

"Where did you send Hedwig, Harry?"

"To Hermione's, sir," Harry grumbled, still refusing to look the elder wizard in the eye.

"Wise decision. No doubt Miss Granger shall be able to bring her along when you leave Privet Drive at the end of the month," said Dumbledore glibly.

Harry remained silent, furious.

"I know that you are suffering a great deal, Harry," sighed the older man at length, "But this is not the way to behave. I know the Dursleys are not kind; however, this is the only place I can guarantee your safety for the time being."

Another moment of tense stillness passed between the two as the headmaster tried and failed to draw Harry's gaze.

"Or was Sirius's sacrifice in vain? Perhaps you have yet to understand that particular lesson."

Harry flinched and looked up with shock clear in his eyes. The corners of Dumbledore's thin mouth turned up in a pacifying smile.

"Then it's settled. Please remain here until I come to collect you. I promise it won't be long. I have spoken to your aunt and uncle of their harsh treatment of you this afternoon, and have assured them that any other such incidents will be met with unpleasant consequences on their part."

Harry nodded numbly.

"…And to ensure that no such incidents occur again due to anything resulting from your actions," the headmaster began remorsefully, his blue eyes absent of their usual twinkle, "I've also placed an inhibiter upon you to prevent further bouts of accidental magic. It would not do for either the ministry or Tom to be alerted of activity here. Friends shall be nearby at all times. I hope you understand why this was necessary."

The headmaster rose, patted his student's knee, and departed Number Four without further ado.

The following days found Harry stubbornly ensconced in his room, idly flipping the DA galleon and missing Hedwig's familiar company. He tossed and turned on his thin, hard mattress, vacillating between anger at Dumbledore and remorse for Sirius. When not brooding, he stood vigil beside his window, watching for hidden Order members or their foes.

It was during one of these periods that Harry was forced out of his taciturnity. Bony knuckles rapped sharply on his door.

"Out! Come out and help me," Petunia commanded, her voice harried. "Vernon's promotion celebration is tonight and I haven't enough hands to do with."

"And what if I'd rather not?" Harry grumbled under his voice even as he opened the door. Dumbledore's admonition still rang in his mind.

"The garden needs weeding, and the lawn needs mowing," Petunia snapped, turning back down the stairs as soon as her nephew emerged from the bedroom.

Harry took the pruning shears and spade from the garden shed without a word, pocketing his galleon on the way out the door. His sharp eyes scanned the flowerbeds for weeds and only found a few. Petunia Dursley's garden was magazine-like in appearance. The only weeds that dared to grow were of the flowering variety and even then, these innocuous greens were eradicated as soon as they came up. With a sigh, Harry fell heavily to his knees before the hydrangeas and began the slow task of pulling out the offending clovers.

The sun had just begun leaning west in the sky by the time Harry had finished mowing the lawn in exact diagonal lines, pruning the evergreen shrubs, and weeding the flowerbeds. His too-large shirt clung to his back and chest as the heat beat down on his neck. He could feel his skin burning. Sweat dripped from his brow and soaked his hair. His shorts – which had once been a pair of Dudley's castoff jeans – were dirtied with mud. The galleon in his pocket felt uncomfortably heavy against his thigh as he pushed the mower back to the garden shed. By the time he had tidied up the shed and locked the door, Harry could hear Dudley's favourite afternoon programme on the television. Sorely missing the Gryffindor boys' showers (he was only allowed one sketchy, lukewarm wash per day to "save" on water), Harry re-entered the house through the back door, removed and plastic-bagged his trainers, and tramped up the stairs for a cool towel and a change.

Despite his voluntary seclusion the past several days, Harry could not have helped but hear about Uncle Vernon's promotion. He had returned home practically bursting with the news the evening after the foreign hair incident. So, it was with alacrity that Harry washed his face and hands, doused a face cloth with cool water, and retreated to his room to avoid being in the way of the inevitable dinner party. Vernon's car pulled into the drive around four. More vehicles lined number four's curb by five. By six, the smell of roasted chicken wafted up the stairs.

Somewhere between the sounds of cutlery-on-china and the too-happy laughter following toasts, Harry fell into a fitful sleep. In his dreams, a chained Sirius shouted for Harry to run. A shrivelled black hand reached for him, coming closer while he struggled to move his leaden feet. Somewhere, a woman screamed. It sounded like his mother, at first, but grew shriller and more frantic as he clapped his hands to his ears.

"Vernon, _no!_"

"I've had _enough_, Petunia. Quite enough! That little _good-for-nothing_ has spoiled things for the last time!"

The bedroom door slammed open and Harry sat bolt upright, his hands grasping for his wand. As his fingers brushed against the smooth handle, meaty fingers grabbed him by the hair and yanked him forward out of the bed.

"They'll know, Vernon!" Petunia shrieked, her pale, bony fingers clawing at her husband's arm.

"I don't give a damn anymore! Freaks, the lot of them – I won't stand for this nonsense any longer."

Harry righted himself amongst a tangle of blankets and sheets, straightening his glasses and scrabbling out of his uncle's reach, he was unmindful of the hair he left behind in the larger man's grip. Before he could properly orient himself, a newspaper was thrust beneath his nose.

"What have you done, boy? Is this revenge? Your payback for all the years we've clothed you? Fed you?!"

"I have no bloody idea what you're on about," shouted Harry, swatting the newspaper away.

"Oh really? You had no idea that the representatives of James C. bloody Potter put a hold on his Grunnings stock? There's only ever been the one bloody Potter investing in Grunnings since the eighties! My own promotion party! Come to find out they all came to present me with this… This!"

Harry yanked the paper toward him, his eyes wide with confusion even as he answered the accusation.

"I didn't even know that my dad had anything to do with your business. I don't know anything about the stock market, either."

But as his uncle said, it was there in print, the headline emblazoned across the top of the _Evening Times_. Harry's eyes scanned the article in disbelief.

_**Grunnings Drill Company unsound**_

_**Major shareowner places hold on all sale and purchase of stock**_

_**by George Mathis**_

_**Times financial correspondent **_

_**London-based business, Grunnings Drills Incorporated, experienced a severe drop in stock prices this afternoon due to an as-of-yet unexplained freeze on all transactions by major shareholder James C. Potter. **_

_**Potter's financial executors placed the freeze his shares this morning as soon as the market opened, said account manager John Smith. The action resulted in a significant loss of confidence in the company. An immediate drop in prices for Grunnings shares entailed. **_

_**Though some investors were unable to sell their shares prior to the market close, the number of those desiring to do so far outweighs those who are willing to run the risk of keeping their stock. Expert investor Scott Cohn predicts that Grunnings may be bankrupt as of tomorrow morning. **_

_**Today also saw a mass exodus of employees from the Grunnings corporate building as word spread of the possible financial failure. **_

"_**Current management hasn't allowed the company to progress to its potential in recent years," Janice Waverly said. "We haven't seen a significant rise in stock price or sales since 1979, so this doesn't come as a surprise to me." **_

"_**Companies that hit a plateau eventually go only one of two places as far as money goes: up or down," the Grunnings ex-accountant said. "We've obviously hit the latter of the two. **_

"_**Since demand for our product remains generally the same and our competitors are likely to lower their prices with the influx of customers, I highly doubt that we will recover. And that, my friends, is why I just handed in my two-weeks notice a week earlier than I originally intended."**_

_**Several others left the company without as much security. **_

"_**I just told them I quit as soon as I heard the news and talked to the boys in finances," Geoffery Cotswold said. "I can't afford to work for someone who may not pay me at the end of the week. I have two children to feed."**_

_**Some may note that this sort of behaviour reflects strangely on the situation. Other companies, when they experience severe loss, may lose a number of employees immediately but retain the majority until matters can be assessed in full. **_

_**Most usually choose to wait on word for severance pay, news on pensions, and other contractual obligations, said human resources representative Katherine Jones. In this case, she said the reason for mass departure stems from apparent problems with management. **_

_**Another employee, who simply supplied us with "Smith," said the reactions might be premature.**_

"_**Grunnings hasn't actually lost or gained anything," he said. "The hold placed on Mr. Potter's stock is just that, a hold on his shares. **_

"_**Yes, he holds 46 percent of Grunnings stock, but [the hold] neither helps nor hurts the company itself. Mr. Potter has traditionally continued to buy stock from Grunnings. The fact that he is no longer buying but also is not selling should signal nothing but his own evaluation of his finances. Perhaps Potter is being audited.**_

"_**The problem is that the vice presidents and CEO have declared a hold on all sales of product until the issue is resolved. That is what caused this panic with the employees, not the freeze in Potter stock."**_

Here, Vernon pulled the paper from under Harry's nose and scowled at him with renewed anger. Harry could make out the horrible pulsing vein in his uncle's temple, and colour rose in the man's distended face once more.

"I've just been humiliated! Holding a bleeding celebration when my company goes down the drain! I've had this position all of three days and I get handed this tripe!"

Before Harry could react, Vernon's fist collided with his jaw, knocking him back against the bed frame. Harry twisted and kicked blindly as he reached toward his pillowcase, feeling for his wand. But thick fingers wrapped around his throat, squeezing and wringing like Harry had never felt before.

_Wand! _Harry thought furiously, his right hand groping higher over the mattress as he and his uncle slid entangled to the floor against the side of the bed.

His right hand clawed at the strangling grip, black spots danced before his eyes. He could barely register as Vernon's foot connected with his legs, the hands squeezing tighter. In the background, Petunia was screaming again through a quickly growing ringing in Harry's ears.

With a mighty lurch, Harry managed to bring his knee hard into his uncle's gut, loosening the hands just enough to stretch the last inch separating his fingers from the handle of his holly and phoenix feather wand.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he rasped.

Horrible comprehension spread through Harry: the spell would not come.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ he hissed again.

But Vernon had recovered. A maniacal grin spread across his lips, his moustache bristling.

"What's this? No magic?" he laughed, coughing a little as he rubbed his gut.

Vernon rose to his feet, the laugher building into a mad cackle.

"No magic! The old man wasn't lying? You _can't_ do magic!"

A rain of blows landed on Harry's torso and left arm, which Harry had hastily raised in defence.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he shouted again, his hand feeling hot around the cool handle of his suddenly unresponsive wand. "_Protego! Fernunculus! Stupefy! Stupefy!"_

Streaks of red lit up the room like fireworks as stunners fired from behind Vernon's hulking form, hitting him and his wife between the shoulders. Petunia crumpled in the doorway. Vernon collapsed half on top of Harry, who quickly kicked the hulking body away. Arthur Weasley stood in the doorway, his eyes wide in his pale, freckled face, his wand raised.

"Harry–"

Whatever Mr. Weasley had intended to say was drowned out by the crash of glass shattering throughout the house as the walls buckled and the floor lurched. Shouts sounded on the street outside. Mr. Weasley shouted for Harry through dust and falling debris as Harry unthinkingly rolled to grab his still-packed rucksack, bag and broom from beneath the bed.

Spells singed the air as Harry shot upward, barely missing a rafter as the roof caved in. His eyes scanned for Mr. Weasley and settled on a shock of red hair amongst the rubble. Weaving through the spell-fire, he flew low to drag the man from the slate and wood, barely holding onto him as he sailed over the front lawn. Tonks stood below, vainly attempting to keep the house from collapsing by casting strengthening, levitation, and feather-light charms. Over his shoulder, he could see Kingsley Shacklebolt holding his own against six deatheaters. Flames licked the barely-standing walls. Sirens shrieked in the distance.

Harry let Mr. Weasley down beside Tonks with a grunt and straightened on his broom.

"Go, Potter! Go to the Burrow!" she cried, her face intense with concentration.

Harry thrust his arm into his rucksack and pulled out his cloak, his brow furrowed. His wand wasn't working. He was useless in a fight, but perhaps he could still do something to protect the heavily outnumbered aurors and Mr. Weasley. Before Tonks could protest, he let loose a long, shrill whistle.

"Oi! Your aim's off!" he shouted toward the house, even as the effort scorched his abused windpipe.

The spell-fire cut off momentarily before redirecting toward him. With a grimace, Harry threw the invisibility cloak over his head and shot vertically into the sky, leaving the burning remains of number four far below. As he had hoped, the deatheaters followed on their own brooms, sweeping the skies and firing curses randomly as they caught a glimpse of his trainer, bag, or broomstick. Diving and rolling to throw them off, Harry hurdled north, relief rolling through him as a group of Order members apparated in the street below. Spells shot toward them, and Harry drove low to the ground to avoid the heavy fire. The deatheaters weren't as lucky.

In moments, he had left the others well behind him. Ahead of him, nothing stood in his way except the vast expanse of the evening sky. In his pocket, the DA galleon burned hot against his thigh.

The air had long since become uncomfortably cool, and the sun was on its way up again. Harry sat on a park bench near the Leaky Cauldron, watching as people passed it in complete ignorance of the world it hid. Finally, a muggle woman holding a piece of parchment and her daughter approached. The girl pointed excitedly though the woman seemed confused. Finally growing impatient, she pulled her mother forward. Harry quickly fell in behind the two as the first year pulled her mother through the muggle-repelling charms.

"Goodness me!" the woman gasped as soon as she passed the threshold.

Tom looked up from his bar and smiled toothlessly at the little girl.

"Excuse us, but we're looking for Diagon Alley," the woman finally stuttered after overcoming the shock of seeing Tom's dishrag wiping down glasses apparently of its own volition.

The innkeeper smiled and helpfully showed the woman and her daughter out the backdoor of the pub and demonstrated how to access the Alley. Harry followed behind the two, glad that, for the first time in days, things were moving in his favour.

"Be careful, Madam," Tom called after the woman, glancing warily up and down the street.

Harry's eyes widened as he took in the state of Diagon Alley.

The first thing he noticed were the vibrant purple posters plastered over every flat surface. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour had been boarded up, as well as several other once-proud shops. Only the main stores seemed to retain any business. Even so, the few people who traversed the Alley walked in hastily shuffling groups. The woman and her daughter had quickly absorbed the atmosphere and were on their way quickly to Gringotts with quick, anxious steps. Harry, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself, made his way down the Alley.

He smiled as he rounded the corner, the purple and gold posters in the shop window, a facsimile of the ministry approved ones plastered elsewhere, almost made up for the desolate appearance of the rest of the alley. The animated advertisement of You-No-Poo aside, the rest of the shop window of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezies displayed even greater examples of the famous (and now lucrative) Weasley humour.

"Bloody brilliant," said Harry with a smile as he entered the shop behind a Hogwarts age boy.

Unlike the rest of the alley, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezies swam with life. Shoppers crowded around Skiving Snack Boxes, miniature displays of Whiz-Bangs, and various assorted products designed by the Messers Weasley to tickle the fancy of the young at heart. Harry wove his way through the crowd with a smile, only pausing or wincing when someone nudged one of his many injuries. Fred and George themselves stood behind the cash register, wearing matching chartreuse dragon hide blazers and false expressions of cheer to go with their purple striped suits. The combination clashed magnificently with their flaming hair. Encumbered by his broom and bags, Harry took a fair while to reach the entrenched pair. It took even longer for him to find an opportunity to slip behind the counter and tap Fred's shoulder.

"Never say you owe me anything for that prize money. This place is brilliant," said Harry quietly enough that only Fred and George heard.

They shared a look of relief before discreetly positioning themselves on either of Harry's sides.

"You know Fred-"

"I think we have a visitor."

"Indeed we do, George."

"Why don't you announce yourself-"

"Like a proper lad, Har-"

George and Fred pulled back on the invisibility cloak to reveal Harry's misshapen face and their expressions hardened. They moved as one to block Harry from view of the rest of the shop before grabbing a shoulder each and pushing him behind the curtain and into the back room.

"Verity, mind the register," Fred started,

"And don't come back here until we say," George continued,

"Or it'll be your job!" they finished in unison.

Harry grimaced as the two forcefully pushed him onto a stool. He winced as he shrugged off the cloak completely and tucked it into his school bag, dropping his luggage to the floor.

"You look like you went awry of the whomping willow."

"What in hell happened, Harry?"

"They told us you'd been attacked-"

"But dad said you saved him and Tonks-"

"Though the ruddy muggle got a hold of you-"

"Even before the deatheaters showed up."

"Does anyone know you've come here?"

"Mum is going to murder us if she finds out you're in this state before-"

"Look, I'll explain everything but for now can I get something to drink and do either of you know healing spells?" Harry said, cutting Fred off in exasperation. The twins shared a glance and rolled their eyes.

"Do we know any healing spells, he says."

"Who does he think we are?"

"Obviously we've _never_ needed to heal ourselves after experimentation, George."

"Never, Fred."

They finally turned to Harry with a wry smile.

"Nothing too much for bruises," said Fred

"But we know good ones for cuts, burns, and breaks," said George

"Though neither of us is as good as Mum," they finished together. Harry rolled his eyes and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the damage beneath.

"A couple of my ribs are fractured. Everything else is just bruised," he said matter-of-factly, not meeting his friends' eyes. Unseen by Harry, the twins shared a worried glance and cast a diagnostic charm simultaneously. Their faces settled into identical expressions of anger as Harry looked up.

"What happened?" they said together.

"Like you said. Uncle had a go at me. Magic wouldn't work," Harry supplied moodily.

"And you half died-"

"By the looks of it," Fred grumbled as he cast a spell.

Harry hissed as he felt his damaged ribs fuse together. The pain faded and Harry breathed a deep sigh of relief. Fred continued muttering several more incantations as George rummaged through a drawer and produced several bottles. He thrust them at Harry with instructions to swallow a mouthful of each as Fred finished fixing Harry's ribs and a badly chipped tooth. Harry grimaced as the potions burned his throat, but was happy to find that most of his pains had faded into a dull ache with their help. Finally, the two thrust a jar of bruise-remover paste into Harry's hand.

"For everything else," Fred said.

"Now what are you doing in our shop-"

"Looking like something Crookshanks dragged in?" They demanded, their arms crossing over their chests at the same moment.

If the matter were not so serious, Harry would have been sorely tempted to laugh.

"I'm meeting Hermione tomorrow at Gringotts," Harry said, holding up the DA galleon. "Sirius sent me a letter about something I need to take care of. As to why here, in this shop, I need a place to stay that I can leave without an Auror or Order member tailing me."

"You do know we're in the Order, Harry."

"And you also haven't answered the other part of our question," said Fred.

"What do you think?" Harry spat. "Last week I had an argument with my Uncle. I tried to leave. I was going to head to Hemione's, but Dumbledore stopped me and did something to my magic. It's his fault whatever happened did, and I don't want anything to do with him or the Order until further notice."

He paused, breathing deeply to moderate his volume.

"Look, I'd really appreciate a place to sleep for a while if that's okay. If not I'm going to have to wait inside Gringotts. I don't need a minder, and I don't want anyone else besides you two and Hermione knowing my business right now, right?" he finished, searching the twins' faces.

Fred and George nodded solemnly and tapped on a nondescript portion of the wall. A doorway swung open to reveal a flight of stairs.

"Flat's up there. You can use either bed."

"G'night, Harry."

"Thanks, guys," said Harry in relief as he shouldered his luggage and made his way up the stairs.

The twins' flat held little else aside from two narrow beds, a sofa, two small dressers, and a kitchenette. A modest brick fireplace and mantle was centred in the east wall. Harry dropped his things beside the bed and fell back onto one of the twins' beds. His head had not yet hit the pillow when he succumbed to exhaustion.

The smell of eggs and bacon pulled Harry gently from the realms of sleep. He groped blindly for his glasses for a moment, before realizing that dresser stood to the left of the bed. His spectacles in place, Harry looked blurrily around the room for a moment, feeling unusually groggy for waking.

"Good morning sleeping ugly," said Fred cheerily from the kitchenette.

"About time you woke up."

"We were worried you'd sleep through your rendezvous with Hermione."

"You _have_ been sleeping for nearly twenty hours," George concluded as he conjured a small table between the two beds.

He and Fred sat opposite Harry, placing a plate of bacon, eggs and toast, and a glass of pumpkin juice before Harry. Harry sat up and grinned appreciatively at the meal.

"Thanks," he said before tucking into the steaming hot food.

"You're welcome," the twins said together, watching Harry carefully.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, which struck Harry as odd as it came to the twins. Perhaps this was how they were when no one else was around to expect otherwise.

As soon as Harry thought it, Fred broke the silence.

"Harry,"

"We're not going to ask what you're up to,"

"Although we'd sorely love to know,"

"And shall probably pester you later,"

"Because we've concluded you've earned the right to do what you want,"

"Considering the attack, and what you said about your magic not working,"

"And that you saved Dad,"

"And that Dumbledore happened to admit to binding your magic in an emergency meeting last night-"

"To much uproar I might add-"

"So let us know what you need and you've got it," concluded Fred.

Harry grimaced and clapped both men on the shoulder.

"Thanks. I appreciate it. I really don't know what's going on right now, but I intend to find out." Harry's face darkened momentarily. "On another subject, what time is it? I need to meet Hermione at noon."

"You've time. It's only ten. I suggest a shower though," said George.

"And if you're on important business with Gringotts, you'd do better in robes than _those_," said Fred.

They both wrinkled their noses as if in disgust at Harry's torn and bloodied jeans, and Harry laughed.

"Thanks," he managed.

"It's the door on the right," George said, following his twin to the stairs, "The other would have bitten you."

"What's in there?"

"This and that," said Fred cryptically.

Harry happily made use of the door on the right and was delighted to find an expanded bathroom with sizable shower, toilet, sink, and all the accoutrements inside. He went about his business, glad to feel clean and full, before dressing. He extracted a black robe from his rucksack, along with a pair of trousers and a shirt. Frowning at the wrinkled material, Harry quickly cast a low-power steam charm and proceeded to shake his clothes out as vigorously as possible. He had to recast the charm several times, but after the fifth attempt, Harry was satisfied that the robe, especially, showed little evidence of being stuffed haphazardly into his bag. He cast a quick severing charm at the Gryffindor patch – the robe was too short at the ankle, anyway – and threw the robe on over his muggle wear.

Dressed, fed, showered, and shaved, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak over himself and made his way down the stairs and into the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezies back room. With his attention no longer devoted to pain, Harry took the time to look at the innumerable products in boxes lining the shelves. He was pleased and impressed to find that over half of the items in the back room seemed to serve defence-oriented purposes. Shield Hats, Cloaks, and Scarves purposed to block a full range of commonly used jinxes and curses, while Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder promised the user five full minutes of darkness impenetrable by wand or flame. Harry made a mental note to ask the twins about buying a box of the decoy detonators as he made his way past the curtain and behind the cash register. He paused behind Fred and gave his shoulder blade a tap to get his attention.

"I'm going. I don't know when I'll be back."

George smiled and assisted a girl at the register as Fred turned as if to pull a product from the shelf, his lips barely moving as he answered Harry.

"Dung's posted outside dressed as a Hag. Moody's staking out old headquarters in case you head there. Dumbles was around, too," he breathed, managing a significant glance in Harry's general direction before turning back to the register.

Harry whispered a near silent "thanks" before following George's young customer and her older brother through the somewhat smaller Monday morning crowd and out the door.

The alley, to Harry's dismay, appeared just as dour as the day before. He had hoped that his own state of mind and physical discomfort had coloured his impression of the place, but was severely disappointed. In previous years, the first week of July was often marked by new and returning Hogwarts students swarming the Alley, but it was a changed street that Harry traversed as he made his way to the crooked marble edifice that was Gringotts. Harry passed perhaps three small groups of people and noted with more sadness and foreboding the number of shops that had been boarded up indefinitely.

The goblin sentries at the front steps stiffened with his approach when Harry finally reached them. Wary of the gleaming axes they held, he halted and whispered, hoping that goblin hearing was as sensitive as Hermione had said during one of her many tangents.

"My name is Harry Potter, and I am being followed and watched. I want to conduct my business without anyone else being aware. May I pass?" he stated carefully.

The guards seemed to relax and Harry took that as permission to move on. Once he was past the front doors, Harry removed his cloak and continued through the other gates into Gringotts proper.

The cavernous chamber, with its many telling stations and raised counters, gave Harry a small feeling of comfort. Gringotts was his introduction to the Magical system, and the presence of armed guards reassured him that the goblins, at least, had an idea about how to deal with intruders and dark wizards. Harry looked up at the massive clock face on the far wall and settled down to wait for Hermione.

At a quarter 'till noon, his patience was rewarded with the sensation of warm arms wrapping themselves forcefully around Harry's neck. Hermione squeezed Harry as if she had not seen him in years, and he could not help but smile into her brown hair.

"Harry!" she squealed, her eyes wide. "I've been mad with worry! Professor Dumbledore showed up at my house yesterday telling me Deatheaters attacked you. And your note-"

"I'm fine, Hermione. You didn't tell him did you?"

"Of course not, especially after how he treated you last term."

Harry smiled at her expression of indignation and pulled Sirius' ruined letter from his pocket. She took a look at the obviously abused parchment and frowned, her hand disappearing into the pocket of her skirt instinctively.

"I'd put it to rights," she began, "but I'm told you're not allowed to draw a wand in Gringotts. What was it?"

Harry smiled at her expression, knowing that the mystery must be frustrating his friend to no end.

"A letter from Sirius," answered Harry softly. "He said, if I wanted to know the truth, I should come here and see the goblins. He implied I shouldn't tell anyone except you."

Across from him, Hermione's frown deepened and she drew her lower lip between her teeth.

"That's why 'Ron can't make it'?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing together as Harry took her elbow and led the way to a teller. "Do you think-" she said suddenly, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Before she could finish her thought, Harry had addressed the goblin.

"I received a letter from Sirius Black. I think it concerns my inheritance," said Harry with more confidence than he felt at conversing with the somewhat intimidating being.

Hermione shot him a questioning look but otherwise said nothing.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. Follow me, please."

The goblin swung gracefully down from his seat and led them away from the tellers' stations and past a gleaming golden gate. Here, the hallway seemed to slope downward, while the ceiling appeared to stretch infinitely upward into darkness. Hermione pressed a little closer to Harry as the temperature dropped with their descent.

After several minutes of walking past gleaming wall-mounted weaponry and sentries interspersed between the displays, the teller, who Harry belatedly recognized as Griphook, ran a clawed finger over a stretch of wall. A golden line spread from the goblin's touch and bloomed into a glowing outline of a door. When the light faded, a carved, mahogany depiction of the last goblin war was revealed. The arched door cracked open silently and swung inward. Griphook entered first, and bowed to the wizened goblin behind an equally magnificent and ancient-looking desk.

"Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Hermione Granger, Director Ragnok," Griphook announced, withdrawing almost as soon as he finished speaking.

Director Ragnok gave a grunt of acknowledgement before addressing the two teens.

"I am very glad you have come, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. Do sit." the goblin director said in a low, gravelly growl.

Once Hermione and Harry had taken the two comfortable chairs before the grand desk, he began again.

"Lord Black was a highly valued customer during his lifetime. Against wizard advisory, he chose to elect Gringotts as the executor of his affairs, which is why you received the letter you hold in your pocket. If you take a seat, we shall begin the private reading of the will. After this meeting, I will have fulfilled my legal obligations to your godfather and may begin serving you, Mr. Potter," explained Ragnok in the same slow tone.

Harry sat straighter and leaned forward as Ragnok produced an official-looking roll of parchment. Harry immediately recognized the Black family seal when it reflected the dim torchlight of the office.

Ragnok cleared his throat and began to read as soon as the seal was broken. The parchment unfurled and Harry and Hermione watched in fascination as the words glowed gold with their verbalization.

"I, Lord Sirius Orion Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, in sound mind and body hereby revoke all former wills and testamentary dispositions made by me and declare this to be my last will and testament.

"In the event of my death I renounce Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and appoint Gringotts Director Ragnok as executor of my titles, properties, and all worldly possessions. Having no sons or wife, and disowning all others entailed to the Black line, I name my godson, Harry James Potter, as heir apparent to the Black family title, estates, and all the duties, privileges, monies, and properties therein.

"Concerning my relatives, I declare the following. Andromeda Tonks nee Black is to be reinstated in the Black family. I bequeath the full amount of her dowry to her, as well as the standard allowance of 500 galleons monthly.

"Madam Narcissa Malfoy nee Black is hereby required to present herself to Gringotts Director Ragnok or a delegate of his choosing. If she bears the mark of Voldemort, she is hereby disinherited for breaking the Black family oath of fealty. Her Black accounts are to be reclaimed and her dowry and allowance must be repaid in full. Any Black family heirlooms or objects listed in the Black Family Register of Assets will be reclaimed. In the event that she and her husband cannot reimburse the amounts in total, her properties, investments, holds, and possessions are to be evaluated and seized for the differences as Gringotts policy stipulates. For its services in such an event, Gringotts may claim 15% of the value of total seizures in addition to their standard fee of 5%.

"Lady Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, having been charged and tried as a deatheater of the false Lord Voldemort, is hereby disinherited for breaking the Black family oath of fealty. Her accounts are to be reclaimed and her dowry and allowance must be repaid in full. Any Black family heirlooms or objects listed in the Black Family Register of Assets will be reclaimed. In the event that she and her husband cannot reimburse the amounts in total, her properties, investments, holds and possessions are to be evaluated and seized for the differences by Director Ragnok, as Gringotts policy stipulates. For its services in such an event, Gringotts may claim further fees as stipulated above.

"Draco Malfoy, as heir apparent to the Malfoy title, lands, and properties therein, is hereby disinherited as he failed to swear the Black family oath of fealty by his fifteenth birthday."

Here, Director Ragnok paused as Harry regained his composure. When Bellatrix's name had been spoken, Harry's fists had clenched on the arms of his seat, he swooned dangerously in his seat. Hermione sat with her arms around her best friend, silently crying into his shoulder for his pain and for her own.

"Mr. Potter, do you feel well?" asked Ragnok with a grim frown. "I do not take you for a fainter."

"I feel off… I feel like I would before a bout of accidental magic, but Dumbledore did something to my magic, so I'm not sure what-"

"He did _what?_" the goblin's voice thundered, echoing through the chamber.

Hermione winced in her seat as the doors slammed open and Griphook entered, flanked by two heavily armed guards.

"Go away, we're in closed chambers!" the Director shouted, waving his gnarled fingers.

The door slammed back shut, pushing out the intruders. The goblin turned his steely gaze back on the humans before him.

"You will be able to break the seal one of two ways, but I shall explain later. Shall I continue, Mr. Potter?" asked Ragnok, still clearly displeased.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded his consent. The goblin continued:

"In addition to the above, I formally renounce my alliance with Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Having broken his promises to my house, I renounce his place as secret keeper to my properties. I hereby bequeath that responsibility to my godson, Harry James Potter.

"Furthermore, I renounce my financial support of 1,000 galleons monthly to the Ministry of Magic. These funds are to be appropriated hereafter to St. Mungo's department for long-term spell damage.

"To Remus John Lupin, I leave an allowance of 900 galleons monthly. In addition to that amount, I bequeath my studio flat at Melbourne Grove, East Dulwich, SE22 in the hopes that he may finally live a comfortable life.

"To Arthur Weasley, I leave my collection of vinyl records, the accompanying player, and a gift certificate of £500 to Harrods of London in hopes that he may share his love of all things muggle with Mrs. Weasley in an atmosphere of which she will most definitely approve. I also leave him a gift card of £150 to Tesco stores. I trust Hermione to explain the cards' use and the difference between the two establishments. To Molly Weasley, I leave the Locquirec cottage, at Finistere 29, Brittany in France. It is my hope that she accepts this gift to serve as a safe haven during the coming war. To them both, I leave a gift of gratitude of 10,000 galleons in thanks for providing a loving home to Harry when I could not.

"To Messers Fred and George Weasley, I leave 15,000 galleons to use as they wish in the advancement of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezies and their more serious research. I also bequeath to them my collection of muggle posters and magazines.

"To the future Mr. and Mrs. Bill Weasley, I leave 1,000 galleons each, and access to the Ancestral House of Black elves for help in orchestrating their beautiful matrimony.

"To Charlie and Ginerva Molly Weasley, I leave 100 galleons each.

"To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave the following books: _Collective Theories and Concepts_ by Maxwell Greene, _The Green Book_ by the Irish Republican Army, _The Art of War_ by Machiavelli, and _Battle Studies_ by Ardant du Picq, _The Book of Five Rings_ by Musashi Miyamoto, and _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu. It is my fervent wish that his apparent skill in strategy should be further applied to help my godson in the very near future. I am under no illusions about what is to come. I also leave him 500 galleons in his own Gringotts secure account.

"To Hermione Granger, I leave copies of the above books in case suspicion leads to knowledge and we are left without a natural tactician. I also leave her access to the Black Family Libraries at the Ancestral House of Black with a warning: there is a restricted section within this library that I have warded and partitioned for great reason. The books concealed there either hold or are imbued with dark magic that can and will harm those who read their pages. All other books have been left to her use. I also leave her 500 galleons in her own Gringotts secure account.

"Finally, in the event that any of the above named are declared enemy to the Heir Apparent and Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, all inheritances or their exact values are to be reclaimed or reimbursed. In addition, all stolen items, heirlooms, titles, and properties under Black ownership are hereby recalled to the Black Family vault.

"In witness thereof I have hereunto set my hand this second of May 1996. Signed by Lord Sirius Orion Black in our joint presence and by us in his presence, Sirius Orion Black, Remus John Lupin, Madam Amelia Bones, and Lady Augusta Longbottom."

With the final syllable, the document's words glowed brighter and more vividly than ever, nearly blinding in its intensity. Ragnok squinted his sensitive eyes and held his hand out for Harry to take. Harry, with Hermione's urging, grasped the goblin's rough palm.

"Do you, Harry James Potter, accept your status as Heir Apparent to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and assume all the titles, properties, duties, and privileges associated with that title?"

Harry looked at Hermione questioningly as the words glowed brighter on the parchment. She bit her lip as she examined Harry's face. By her expression, Harry could see that she was contemplating the words they had heard and the implications of each. He had heard but had not absorbed everything, so he trusted Hermione's interpretation far more than his own. She slowly and deliberately nodded and Ragnok squeezed his hand tighter. Clearing his suddenly scratchy throat, Harry turned back to the goblin.

"I accept."

At his words, the glowing light leapt from the parchment and intensified, forming a band of gold. The light, so bright that Harry shielded his eyes with his left hand, wove around Harry's arm and burned hot on his right fingers. Hermione gasped and the light dissipated so swiftly it was as if it had never entered the shadowy chamber.

"It's the Black Family Seal," Hermione whispered to her stunned friend as he stared at his right hand.

"That ring signifies your status as Lord Black," Ragnok clarified.

"I had some questions about that, actually," Harry said after recovering from his disbelief and surprise.

He sat back beside Hermione and Ragnok mirrored his actions. Hermione squirmed beside Harry, apparently excited, and Ragnok's harsh lips stretched into an unnerving grin.

"Before you ask these questions, we have more business to attend to," the goblin said with the same grin.

"By accepting your title, Lord Black, you have legally reached your majority. This means that the ministerial trace on your wand is broken. It also means that the Potter will is now unsealed. That being said, it has come to my attention that no one performed an heir test on you when you first visited Gringotts, is that correct?"

"No, I don't think so. I was just asked for my key and Hagrid gave it over to Mr. Griphook," Harry said slowly after thinking for a moment. He remembered the day vividly, but wanted to be sure.

"Indeed? This is not standard Gringotts procedure," Ragnok said with a positively ferocious expression.

Hermione recoiled into Harry's side and Harry smiled a little nervously down at her in reassurance. Ragnok gave a somewhat grinding guffaw at the girl's reaction before continuing.

"The first time one enters Gringotts it is standard procedure to undergo an Heir test to ensure that you are not the owner of any previously opened accounts. I assume that Mr. Hagrid bypassed this by presenting your key before it could happen. The _other_ business he carried out may have also caused the mismanagement, but either way… Please give me your hand," said Ragnok with a much put-upon expression as he withdrew a white marble tablet from his desk drawer.

Harry held his palm out for the goblin, who merely lanced one of Harry's fingertips and pressed it to a cold white stone. The Director allowed Harry to withdraw and they all watched patiently as the droplet soaked slowly into the unpolished marble.

Soon enough, scarlet bled through the surface and curled into letters, then words. Hermione gasped as she and Harry watched in wonderment.

"This is my family tree?" Harry asked, his fingers brushing just beneath his own name at the bottom of the plaque. Hermione examined its surface, entranced as she mumbled the names aloud.

"Sir Ignotus Peverell married to Lady Beatrice Gryffindor. Children: Corrine and Zachary. Lord Zachary Peverell married to Catherine Prewett. Lady Corinne Peverell married to Lord Bennet Potter. Children: Ezekiel Potter. Lord Ezekiel Potter married to Josephine Bones. Children: Joseph, Marcus and Joan. Lord Joseph Potter married to Aria Gaunt. Children: Rexana, Charlus, and Julian. Lord Charlus Potter married to Elladora Black. Children: James Charlus Potter. Lord James Charlus Potter married to Lily Evans. Children: Harry James Potter. Lord Harry James Potter," Hermione look in awe at her friend. "Harry, this goes back… I don't even know how many years. I've never heard of Beatrice Gryffindor."

"That would be the four times great granddaughter of Lord Godric Gryffindor. This tree begins in the late twelfth century. Time was not well documented," said Ragnok dismissively. "Now that we have established your line of inheritance, you will receive both your parents wills as well as an accounting of your vaults. I was asked, once we finished this process, to make sure you visited the vault of the late Lord Black."

"Thank you, Director. That sounds great," Harry said after a moment, still stunned at the slab of marble, amazed at the line of people that were blood relations to him. He finally looked up at the goblin with longing in his eyes.

"Is there any way I could get a copy of this on parchment?" he asked, a strangled quality to his voice. Hermione squeezed his hand.

"Of course, Lord Potter. The fee for a transcription is a mere four sickles. For a self-updating copy the fee is three galleons."

"A self-updating copy, please," answered Harry quickly as he dug through his pocket, frowning as he felt for his moneybag and found nothing. "Er…"

"If you are searching for your purse, Lord Potter, it has been recalled to your vault. Those with your net value are given special access to their vaults via credit, blood and magically keyed items," Ragnok explained.

He held out handsome wide, black, dragon hide wallet. Harry took it in obvious confusion, opening it. His eyes widened as he flipped through the wallet's folds and buttoned coin pocket.

The main folds held an indefinite number of pounds, and the coin pocket, though seemingly empty when closed, held more galleons than could logically fit inside. He reached into the compartment experimentally and was delighted to find that the perhaps-five-inch-wide fold engulfed not only his hand, but also his entire forearm with ease.

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed, smiling appreciatively at Ragnok before drawing out three galleons.

The goblin nodded in satisfaction.

"If you'll notice, there is also a card usable for muggle transactions. It will directly draw funds from Gringotts. The same goes for items you may wish to purchase in a wizard shop. If anyone other than you attempts to draw funds with either the wallet or your card should you misplace it, they will automatically return to your possession. You may also recall it by asking for it."

"That is amazing," Hermione whispered.

Harry happily handed the wallet to her to examine. She amused herself for a moment by flipping through the now apparently empty wallet while Ragnok stood. The door behind Harry and Hermione immediately opened to reveal Griphook, who once again bowed to his superior.

"Please take Lord Potter and Miss Granger to the Black family vault," Ragnok instructed, before turning back to his guests. "Your parents' wills are below. As soon as the complete results of your heir test is completed, I will owl for an appointment to manage any remaining affairs."

Hermione quickly grasped Harry's elbow as he bid farewell and thanks to the director and followed Griphook out of the office.

The ride to down to vault twenty-four was exhilarating, but even Harry found that after the first ten minutes, he felt somewhat dizzy. Hermione had attached herself firmly to Harry's arm by the time they reached the Black Family vault. Unlike with the case of Harry's vault or that of Nicholas Flamel, the Black Family vault's door rose infinitely upward into the stalactite-hung ceiling. The doors, apparently constructed of some type of metal (though neither Harry nor Hermione recognized it by sight) were boldly emblazoned with the Black Family crest. Their motto, "Toujours Pur" stood out in shining contrast against the dull, blackened metal. A smaller version of the crest stood superimposed at waist-height in the centre of the magnificent door. Griphook addressed this smaller seal when he stepped from the cart.

"Stand back, please," the goblin muttered gruffly as he slid his fingertip over the saucer-sized crest. A glowing gold outline spread from the bottom point of the crest and spread outward until the entire shield was highlighted against its dark metal background. Harry and Hermione watched with open curiosity as it swung silently sideways and revealed an opening large enough for a man to fit his fist.

"Present your seal, Lord Potter," Griphook instructed, inclining his head toward the hole.

Harry and Hermione shared a nervous glance as he stepped forward, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

Griphook, giving the young wizard as scathing a look as he could manage, grasped Harry's wrist somewhat roughly and assisted him in thrusting his ringed hand into the hole. Harry's eyes widened and his lips pressed together as if in an effort to withhold a rude word.

"Is it supposed to bite me?" Harry asked the Goblin, feeling less assured than before of his safety as he tried to withdraw his arm.

A strange tugging sensation came from the other end. Without thinking, he reached for Hermione before he was drawn fist-first into the vault. Behind him, Hermione screamed as she too was drawn in. Her shriek cut off as a million floating candles lit with a great _whoosh_ throughout the vast chamber.

"Oh my… _Harry!_" Hermione gasped, her brown eyes wide with wonder.

The Black Family vault more closely resembled a vast library rather than a bank vault. Great chests emblazoned with the Black Family crest stood open against both walls, filled to the brim with shining galleons, sickles, or knuts. Vast, luxurious rugs carpeted the rough stone floor while case upon case of books, relics, and heirlooms stretched endlessly before the two teenagers.

Harry and Hermione walked hand-in-hand to the centre of the chamber, immediately drawn to a great marble podium. It was designed almost like a great basin with a small island in the centre. Perched on top, depicted as young and happy as Harry had ever saw him, stood a bust of Sirius Black. Harry traced his godfather's features, his throat dry and his eyes stinging uncomfortably as he beheld the portrayal.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered so quietly Hermione only just managed to hear him.

He closed his eyes against a wave of emotion. He and Hermione stood in silence for a moment: Harry in his private grief, she suffering for her friend.

"Harry, look," Hermione gasped suddenly, pulling hard on Harry's hand. He snapped his head up immediately and stared in open surprise and awe at the bust. The closed eyes of the marble bust had opened, and silvery tears slid over its façade and into the basin below.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, drawing her wand as she leaned over the pooling, silvery substance. Harry joined her, his lips curling into a frown as he watched the swirling silver. As more pooled, he could make out individual strands.

"Memories."

"Do you think _this_ is what Sirius wanted you to have?" asked Hermione, her voice elevating in pitch with her excitement.

"Yeah, but it won't do me any good. I don't have a pensieve," Harry muttered in frustration, drawing his own wand and poking through the strands. The basin itself was just a container, it seemed. If it had been a pensieve he would have been drawn in already.

"And you can't exactly order one by owl… They're extremely expensive and hand-made by Rune masters," Hermione said with a frown. "You have to have a license to purchase one because of their potential for abuse."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, running a hand in frustration through his mussed hair. "I suppose we'll just have to bottle everything and figure it out later," he concluded, striding to the nearest cabinet in search of vials.

Hermione stopped him with a yank on his robes, her eyes bright with possibilities.

"What about the wallet? I assume you can access the gold here. It must have a transmission point."

"Mr. Griphook?" Harry called.

The goblin entered once allowed by the summons, bowing jerkily.

"Is there some way I can pull things from my vault from my wallet?"

"If you note which items you want access to, I will arrange it."

"I'd appreciate it," he smiled. "How do I indicate..?"

"Make a note on the tablet by the door, and I will see it done."

Hermione grinned, gratified in her right guess.

"At least we won't have to worry about losing or breaking the vials, now. There may be a pensieve in one of your entailments. You should probably find a ledger."

Harry nodded, continuing his pursuit of the memories still pooling around Sirius' bust. He siphoned them into vials (he found a polished wooden box nearby full of them) and stoppered them carefully. After a moment, Hermione began helping until nearly all the vials in the box were full, and the basin stood empty. The eyes of Sirius' bust closed and the entire podium, bust, basin, and all, simply faded from existence.

Both teens stared for a moment, placing the box in the empty space.

"Doesn't this strike you as a little… Well-done for Sirius?" asked Hermione with a cautious glance toward Harry.

Harry sat on one of the many thick rugs, twisting the braided fibres at his hip.

"I don't know," he admitted. "He was always the first to tell me that he wasn't the brain in the Marauders, but really _all_ of them were bloody brilliant." Harry did not need to specify the statement excluded Wormtail.

"And, I think, considering how Sirius grew up he may have known a lot more than we gave him credit for. If all of this is a result of Sirius' last actions… Maybe this is about right," he finished lamely.

"What are we going to do?" whispered Hermione after another long moment of silence.

"I'm not sure. We need that ledger, like you said. We need to view these memories… And I'm not going back to Hogwarts until I know whatever Sirius wanted me to. I can't trust Dumbledore right now as far as I can throw him."

"But it's sixth year, Harry. And as much as I'm angry at him, he's always tried to act in your interests," Hermione protested, trying to dismiss the idea.

Harry snorted, allowing let her think about what she just said for a moment before the both of them burst into laughter. Hermione elbowed Harry's ribs playfully, a blush spreading over her cheeks.

"I suppose that's not exactly true anymore. But we'll figure something out long before term starts. What would I do with only Ron for a friend?"

"We'll work it out. I could go to Beauxbatons. Didn't you say sometime in fourth year I should 'expand my horizons'?"

"I'd go with you, you know," Hermione said quietly.

"I'm sure we'll find a pensieve one way or another. I am a Lord now, right? And I can't leave you lot alone, now, can I?" Harry responded playfully. "What would you do without the chosen-boy-who-pooed-his-nappy-at-the-ugliest-dark lord-to-have-ever-lived? …Or whatever shite they're calling me now."

Hermione shoved Harry's shoulder in mock-anger as he grinned irreverently.

It was with smiles on their faces that Harry and Hermione exited vault twenty-four, leaving behind the suddenly growing piles of galleons and rows of heirlooms. Neither noticed as a heavy gold locket and a gleaming cup also popped into existence on top of one of the chests.


	3. To the Grangers'

Disclaimer: All things you recognize from the original work belong to the author and his/her respective distributors, producers, and publishers. I play in the universe to stretch my writing muscles and to entertain those who deem me worthy of reading and myself. I do not profit from this work.

A/N: Thanks everyone for being so patient. I hope you like the new edits and that you enjoy Harry's journey as much as I am.

Thanks for reviewing and happy reading!

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter Three: To the Grangers'

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

The ride back to the surface lost a little of its usual thrill to the teens' silent musings. Aside from whimpering now and again and clinging tightly to Harry's arm, Hermione withheld the usual barrage of commentary and query. The near-silence held as they retrieved the Black ledger from a teller at Griphook's instruction. As they turned to leave the desk, Ragnok appeared at Harry's elbow.

"Lord Potter. I promised to explain certain things of private nature."

"Yes- Thanks. I wasn't sure how to find you again."

"Which is why I found you. Come."

Without further ado, the Director turned the teens followed. He led them beyond the tellers' counters, to a small conference room hidden by a wall pretending to be otherwise.

"Just like Hogwarts," whispered Hermione.

"Perhaps Hogwarts is just like Gringotts," Ragnok sneered. "Our race has long walked the earth. Longer than humankind."

"I meant no disrespect," said Hermione quickly, her cheeks flushing.

"No, I'm sure you did not. But Wizards' wilful ignorance of our contribution to magic is insult enough. And because young people like yourself are not taught to question, you do not."

Ragnok gestured to the seats around the oval table in the richly appointed room, continuing once both Harry and Hermione sat.

"Binding the magic of an heir to a noble and ancient house is highly illegal, Lord Potter."

"Please," said Harry, colouring for his interruption. "Just 'Harry'."

"Very well, Harry. By claiming your blood-inherited title, you will break any seals placed upon you. In order for this to occur, you must accept the Potter Seal." The goblin paused, his lips curling in a moue of distaste. "Unfortunately, the seal your father wore was buried with him, contrary to tradition."

"So how does he-"

"How do I-"

The Goblin laughed when both teens paused in their simultaneous question.

"It is possible to reclaim the seal. In times past, wizards not entailed the title would steal the seal so as to prevent the heir full use of their title. To stop such things, they employed blood magicks."

"I thought that was considered dark," said Hermione sceptically.

"Magic is neither dark nor light," ground the Director. "It simply _is._ Its use is what matters. May I continue or do you wish to continue spouting whatever they've been feeding you since you entered this world?"

Hermione bit her lower lip, frowning deeply. Harry patted her knee in reassurance. As much as he cared for her, he knew she had a tendency to trust too easily in what she was told and what she read.

"Blood magicks were used because of their potency. Blood is the base of magic in all living beings. It was easy to imbue a family seal with the intent and magic of a Lord, thus ensuring that it would only truly belong to a named heir. All you must do is summon it."

"But I can't use my magic."

"It is still there, inside your blood. Envision it flowing within you and summon the ring. Trust that it is your right, and you will claim the Potter Lordship."

"That's all?"

"That's all. Be warned, however. You will likely feel drained by the experience."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry sincerely. "I appreciate you telling me all this, and helping me with Sirius's will."

"It is my prerogative as a creature of business and duty. I will send you the Potter wills once they become available."

Harry and Hermione left the room at the Director's dismissal, glad to have their immediately answerable question resolved.

But at the first set of huge doors guarding Gringotts' entrance, Harry was confronted with the same dilemma he had faced at the bus terminal in Little Whinging.

"I don't think it would be wise to stay in Diagon Alley, Harry," Hermione argued.

They had been standing in the antechamber for several moments, Hermione hissing at Harry, who had already pulled his cloak over himself. Through the open portal ahead, they had spotted both Mundungus Fletcher and Kingsley Shacklebolt patrolling between the great marble steps of the bank and the Leaky Caldron.

"I don't have anywhere else to go!" Harry hissed back. "Besides, all my stuff's at Fred and George's."

"Well, then, would it be so difficult for us to go there, get your things, and meet my parents at the Leaky Caldron? You can stay with us!"

"I don't know your parents, Hermione! What would they say? 'Yes, you can stay for the holiday. You've only just led our daughter into danger every year of school!' Yeah, that'll go over just spiffingly, Hermione," Harry nearly shouted in exasperation.

Hermione jumped at the volume of his words and began coughing loudly in an attempt to cover up the seemingly disembodied voice as patrons looked around in curiosity.

"They'll be fine with it, really, Harry! Besides, do you think I'd tell them the truth about all that? Certainly, muggleborns wouldn't go to Hogwarts if the parents were informed of half of what we get up to."

Harry tried to speak, but Hermione cut across him.

"And I can't stand the thought of you hiding out somewhere all holiday. Fred and George's isn't sensible. They're connected to the floo and they have visitors from the Order all the time, I'm sure."

"It's better than whatever Dumbledore has planned," Harry grumbled, back to a whisper.

"That's what I _mean_," whispered Hermione beseechingly, her hair growing more and more frazzled as she became more flustered. "You deserve to have a somewhat _normal_ holiday for once! NOT quarantined somewhere or feeding yourself on scraps!"

Harry fell silent, his throat suddenly tight once more. Hermione huffed in triumph, her eyes glinting and her lips spreading into a smile.

"Come on, you're coming home with me."

"Fine… but if it's too much of a burden I can stay at the Leaky Cauldron. Or at one of the apparently many properties I own," Harry muttered in reluctant acquiescence, fingering the corner of the thick leather ledger under his arm.

"Well they _won't_, so hush and come _on_, Harry!" Hermione sighed in exasperation as she marched through the front doors.

Harry followed her silently, wand drawn and alert just in case Moody happened to be about. Sure enough, as soon as Hermione left the front steps of Gringotts, Kingsley and Tonks flocked to her side, Tonks in the process of shoving an invisibility cloak into the front of her jumper.

"Wotcher, Hermione," she said in her usual chipper way as she took Hermione's left arm.

Kingsley stood at her right, his eyes darting about as if Harry would be found sneaking between shadows.

"Hello, Hermione," Kingsley echoed in a deep, rich tone.

"Good afternoon," Hermione responded, her voice rising in pitch. "What's going on? Why are you here?" she queried, passing off her nervousness for fear.

They stopped outside the barrier to the Leaky Caldron.

"You've heard Harry's gone missing," Tonks said, her tone hinting towards sadness. Her hair, which had been a dark shade of violet, faded gradually to mousy brown.

"And?" Hermione squeaked with an appropriate amount of alarm. "Do you have news?"

"No. He flew off after he distracted the Deatheaters from Arthur and me."

Harry smiled wryly at that. He had wondered if anyone would be able to track him.

"No one ever told me," began Hermione hesitantly, "but what happened to Harry's aunt and uncle? And his cousin?"

Harry shifted uneasily behind Hermione, wary of the answer.

Tonks looked up at Kingsley, and he nodded slightly, his expressive mouth turned down in a grim frown.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley are dead," said Tonks somewhat haltingly. "The boy went to a muggle hospital. He was pretty badly hurt, but he should live."

Hermione's face fell, and Harry registered a type of regret somewhere within him, as strange as he felt that was.

"Anyway, Shack and I were wondering if you'd heard anything from him. Considering what Arthur interrupted, and what the Headmaster said about his magic, we think Harry may be avoiding the Order. Either that, or he's being pursued by someone we missed at Number 4."

"Tonks said he had his cloak and brooms, probably a bag. Perhaps you could get in contact with those DA coins-" Shacklebolt added, but Hermione cut him off.

"That Umbridge _cow_ confiscated them all when we were caught in May," quipped Hermione with distracted brusqueness. "Hedwig hasn't been able to locate him when I asked, either."

"Well… Dumbledore and Remus are worried sick," Tonks continued. "Apparently, they even tried to get Harry's mad little elf friend to find him, but for some reason he can't do it. The poor thing was in tears over it."

Harry frowned at that information. From what he understood about house elves, they were quite capable of finding anyone, despite their protections, disguises, and perceived visibility. Considering Dobby's almost obsessive desire to "help" Harry, he was most surprised.

"That _is_ worrisome…" Hermione said slowly, her eyes taking on an odd glint.

Harry knew that look, and knew she would share her theory later.

"That isn't all," whispered Tonks urgently, pressing closer to Hermione. "Scrimgeor is looking for Harry, as well. The attack made the muggle news, and the muggle Prime Minister contacted Scrimgeour. They put it down to faulty foundations collapsing, but point is, the Minister checked the records and has been breathing down the Headmaster's throat trying to figure out what's going on. He knows Harry's involved, and the Prime Minister wants to know what's going on, too."

"So what are you all doing, exactly?" Hermione hissed back, veritable displeasure on her face.

Harry had to resist the urge to laugh and wondered, a little absently, if he had underestimated Hermione's ability.

"All of the Order has been notified. Everyone's on alert and has their eyes open… Dumbledore has been thinking on the matter."

"Well you're wasting time talking to me. I haven't heard, but I'll keep trying with Hedwig," Hermione assured Tonks quickly. "Will you let me know when you find him?"

"Of course," Kingsley assured her. "We'll let you get back to your shopping then."

"Good luck," said Hermione by way of parting. Tonks and Kingsley nodded before disappearing through the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione continued her walk silently down the alley with her hand in her pocket, clasped tightly around her wand. It was not until both she and Harry were safely through the door of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that she spoke again.

"Do you think they believed me?" she whispered, reaching out subtly to find Harry.

He tapped her right shoulder to orient her and waited while a girl moved past them to the Wonder Witch products.

"I think so. You were very convincing," complimented Harry casually.

Hermione smiled and waved as Fred and George noticed her.

"Hello Fred, George," Hermione greeted as the two made their way through the displays.

"Hello Hermione," they spoke in unison, giving Hermione a knowing wink in addition to their identical devilish grins.

As the twins and Hermione talked, Harry took the opportunity to slip behind the register, through the curtain separating the back room from the store, and up the hidden staircase to retrieve his belongings. Before he left the small flat, Harry jotted a quick note to Fred and George thanking them. He made sure to specify that he may be back if he found himself in need before descending the stairs once more with rucksack and schoolbag in hand. Beyond the curtain, Harry could hear Hermione complimenting the twins' spell work on the shield products. Careful to avoid the few lingering customers, Harry quietly slipped back to her side.

"…Hermione, you sound so surprised! We'd be offended-"

"If we didn't know any better," Fred laughed. He gave George a covert glance as Harry passed him. George nodded.

"So, Hermione, if you _happen_ to see our favourite much-sung hero," George began,

"Let him know that we took the liberty of giving him a few goodies to go-"

"Just in case-"

"He gets into trouble between now and term," they finished together.

Hermione raised her eyebrows but otherwise did not acknowledge the whispered exchange.

"I'll just take these please," she said, holding up two shield cloaks.

"On the house," Fred responded with a wink.

"We've already given one each to everyone at the Burrow."

"Thanks," Hermione said with a smile, lowering her purse.

With a wave she turned back to the door. Harry took one last look around at the obnoxiously cheerful store and smiled. 'Leave it to Fred and George,' he thought as the door swung shut behind him.

"Hermione," a woman called in obvious relief from a short distance up the alley as soon as the two teens emerged on the cobblestone walk.

"Mum!" Hermione gasped in alarm, immediately drawing her wand as she ran to her mother's side.

Harry jogged to keep up, his wand already drawn beneath his cloak.

"Mum, you shouldn't have left the Leaky Caldron," said Hermione worriedly as she guided her very obviously muggle mother back to the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"You took so long that I began to worry, dear," said Mrs. Granger as she patted her daughter's hand.

She was a very pretty woman, though older than Harry had imagined. Mrs. Granger was her daughter's height exactly and though her shoulder-length hair fell in tame waves rather than thick curls, it was the same colour as her daughter's. As soon as Hermione had steered Mrs. Granger back through the archway, a man in smart muggle trousers, jumper, and collared shirt came forward with three butterbeers.

"I told you she was fine, Jean," said Mr. Granger with an easy smile.

His wife gave him a pointed glare, but the much larger man merely winked playfully back.

"So how did it go?" asked Mrs. Granger after silently chastising her husband again.

She turned her full attention to Hermione. Mr. Granger followed suit, fixing his daughter with a level and attentive gaze. Hermione expelled a long sigh.

"It's a lot to explain, and I would rather not do it here," said Hermione with a nervous cast of her eyes around the pub.

As in the alley itself, the Leaky Caldron's patrons were few in number. Those who did loiter in the pub were of the shadier cut, and both Harry and Hermione were acutely aware of the likelihood of an order member lurking about.

"Shall we head home after our drinks then?" suggested Mr. Granger casually.

The curiosity in his expression reminded Harry of Hermione's constant inquisitiveness. 'Perhaps it's inherited,' he thought. The conversation then turned to more casual topics as the three drank their butterbeer. Harry sat in silence next to Hermione as they talked about A-levels and private tuition. It would have surprised him had she been anyone but Hermione. And though he enjoyed seeing this side of Hermione's life, after twenty minutes, Harry had begun to fidget. Hermione, hearing one of Harry's impatient sighs, finally suggested that they depart.

Mr. Granger led the way to a car park just off Charing Cross road. Hermione opened the back door and pretended to drop something, allowing Harry to slip inside. As soon as she felt him brush past, she straightened and got in as well. Mr. Granger drove the car smoothly into London traffic. The three sat in companionable silence for a while, Mrs. Granger sometimes casting curious glances in the rear-view mirror. They had completely left the metropolis that was downtown London. In fact, the car was well on its way to Crawley by the time Mrs. Granger finally could restrain herself no longer.

"Are you going to tell us what exactly is going on, Hermione?" she asked, fixing her daughter with a piercing glare as she turned to look at her. "You mentioned your friend Harry?"

"I begged you to take me to London because he's in a bit of trouble," Hermione explained evenly, covertly nudging Harry's side with her elbow.

Harry tried not to laugh in his nervousness.

"He asked me to come to Diagon Alley last week and didn't tell me why. But you know what I've told you about him… He's not exactly a person you ask to explain himself when he needs you," Hermione admitted tenderly.

Harry's throat tightened and heat rose in his cheeks.

"Yes, yes, we've heard all that before… So what happened? Did you meet him? Couldn't he have met us in the pub?" rattled Mr. Granger eagerly.

"Yes, I did. No, people are looking for him, and you'll see him soon enough," said Hermione in her trademark greater-than-thou manner. "He needed my help in settling some business concerning his godfather, but the people who try to look after him wouldn't have allowed it after the attack at his house, so it had to be a secret."

"And?" Mrs. Granger pressed.

"It's not for me to tell, although we will probably need your help in deciphering half of it. But something's wrong. Sirius implied that the people supposedly looking after Harry's safety have an alternative agenda," explained Hermione, her eyebrows drawing together as she contemplated the issue aloud.

"On one hand, Sirius has always tried to act in Harry's best interest… And it's true that Professor Dumbledore doesn't really tell Harry what he needs to know, but I don't think he'd _lie_ to Harry," worried Hermione.

Harry bit his lip, still furious at the Headmaster and quite ready to believe otherwise.

"And Ron… Sirius's will implied he may not be trustworthy, and Harry told me that Ron couldn't come today because Sirius's letter said it wouldn't be wise. Yet, he still left all of the Weasleys with a significant inheritance It just doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps you shouldn't decide anything yet," said Mrs. Granger simply. "We'll sort through it together. You said you wanted him to stay with us?"

"Yes, I invited him today," said Hermione lightly. "I think it will be a welcome change from his other holidays. I told you about the last couple of years, didn't I? And then, this summer they didn't even let him arrange a funeral for Sirius."

"I'm sure he'll find the loft comfortable," said Mrs. Granger. "But if he isn't at his relatives' or Diagon Alley anymore, how are we going to contact him?"

"I forced him to accept the invitation before we left the Alley," Hermione admitted, her cheeks turning pink.

"Oh did you, Hermione?" Mr. Granger smirked at his daughter in the rear-view mirror.

"Yes… But only on the condition that he's not a burden to us," said Hermione with a roll of her eyes.

Harry nudged Hermione's knee in annoyance, feeling increasingly awkward from sitting silent in the backseat, essentially eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Of course he won't. He can stay as long as he likes," Mrs. Granger enthused.

"So will he show up sometime in the next few days?" asked Mr. Granger.

"Well…"

"Hermione?" said Mrs. Granger sharply.

"Yes, mum?"

"How's Harry going to get here?" she sighed in exasperation as the car pulled onto Thetford Road.

"I'm sure he's found away," said Hermione cryptically with a glance to her right.

Harry distracted himself from laughing by looking out the windows. New Malden, a part of Kingston upon Thames in Greater London, was comprised of the old sort of houses that one might see in a storybook. The roofs were all shingled with rounded black slate, and the walls of the houses ranged from whitewash to brick. They were, overall, much larger than the homes on Privet Drive, and ranged in architectural styles. The car turned at the end of the street, just before reaching an intersection and what appeared to be a children's play park, and pulled into a garage resplendent in emerald creeping ivy.

Hermione again stalled upon getting out of the car, allowing Harry to slip out silently behind her. Mr. Granger closed the garage while Mrs. Granger began pulling black shopping bags with gold lettering out of the boot.

"Do you need help Mum?" Hermione offered as she slung her bag over her shoulder, tucking her wand in its front pocket.

"I'm fine, dear," Mrs. Granger said somewhat laboriously as she wedged a bag between her arm and torso.

Mr. Granger watched with amusement as his wife attempted to close the boot so encumbered, before Hermione snapped it closed with a roll of her eyes. Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes, but followed Hermione through the door without comment. Harry waited for the woman to pass before entering himself, Mr. Granger bringing up the rear.

Hermione paused just inside the mudroom to take off her thin coat and shoes, shuffling into a pair of slippers.

"You can take it off now, Harry," she said over her shoulder.

"Hermione?" Mrs. Granger asked in confusion, staring into the apparently empty space Hermione had addressed.

Harry, somewhat wary of her parents' reaction, pulled his cloak off reluctantly. He grinned somewhat sheepishly at their open-mouthed expressions.

"Er… thank you for inviting me to your home, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," mumbled Harry with a nervous grin.

"I… How long have you been there?"

"Hermione brought me along with her from Diagon Alley," admitted Harry, shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

"It was my idea, Harry. Stop looking so guilty," laughed Hermione.

"And I'm sure all this secrecy was necessary," grumbled Mr. Granger somewhat sceptically.

"There's a war on," shrugged Hermione.

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. "Er… If it's too much trouble I can find somewhere else. And, urm, I was hoping I could pay rent if I do stay here, and help around the house. I don't want to be freeloading or anything," he continued in a rush.

"_Harry!"_ Hermione gasped in way of admonishment as her parents exchanged a glance.

They studied the deceptively youthful boy: his apologetic and worried face, his nervous shuffling, his oversized clothing and the scars adoring his hand and forehead. Every so often he threw a glance toward Hermione, and Hermione, they both noticed, was quick to take his hand in reassurance. Mr. Granger finally broke the awkward silence as he pulled his wife to his side.

"Harry, you don't have to pay rent. What we said in the car still applies. You're welcome to stay here for the holidays. And as for helping out, just pick up after yourself and enjoy the summer," said the older man with a genial smile.

Hermione smiled up at her father appreciatively before tugging on Harry's arm.

"I… Thank you," said Harry with a little bit of colour in his cheeks.

"Well, now that _that's_ settled… How about we all go to the library and take tea, hm? We can get more acquainted. We've heard _so_ much about you over the years, Harry love," said Mrs. Granger while ushering her family plus one into a larger L-shaped room.

Mr. Granger took Harry's bags from him and left them in the mudroom entrance before following the teens and his wife through the library door. Hedwig sat on a perch under the window, and hooted sleepily when Harry entered.

Harry and Hermione sat together on a handsome leather settee while Mr. Granger took a wing-backed armchair by the fireplace. He pointed a remote at a large stereo and the room filled with relaxing instrumentals. Harry recognized the music as Jazz, and marvelled at the differences he noted between Hermione's family and the Dursleys. Their house, while neat and tidy, neither felt exhaustively meticulous nor conservative. The Dursleys also had not allowed music in the house except within Dudley's bedroom, as they generally disapproved of anything remotely imaginative.

Harry found that he quite liked the comfortable library with its shelves of books and bright windows and rich blue walls. He relaxed almost immediately and thanked his hostess a little more enthusiastically than necessary when she brought in tea, scones, and biscuits.

"So, Harry, what exactly happened that you're in such a mess?" queried Mr. Granger lightly over the top of a newspaper.

Harry noted, with a flush, that an article concerning Grunnings Drill Company had made it to the front page of this latest issue.

"Most recently, _that_," he answered, gesturing to the article.

Mr. Granger's eyebrows rose into his sandy-coloured fringe as he flipped the newspaper closed to examine the front page.

"The Grunnings Company?" he frowned in obvious confusion.

"I'm supposed to be inheriting my father's title. My Godfather did some things so that when he died, I guess, I'd come into my majority," Harry clarified, his expression curiously blank of emotion with the revelation. "But I don't understand how my dad could be titled in the Muggle world, too."

"But of course he would be," said Hermione. "Don't you ever pay attention in History of Magic? Magical citizens are still subjects of the Crown. Families who are titled got those titles through Royal appointment plus recommendation from the Wizengamot after the Magical Charter of 1430."

"What?" Harry looked in bewilderment at his friend.

"Our current government was established by Parliament and King Henry IV in 1430. Technically, our minister is answerable to the Queen," explained Hermione patiently, attempting and failing to resist rolling her eyes.

"Oh. Well, alright then."

"And speaking of business, you should owl once you finished reviewing your ledger. They probably want your evaluation of your holdings and investments before they continue on your behalf," reasoned Hermione with a glance to her father.

Mr. Granger, who was more literate in financial matters, nodded in agreement.

"That's sensible," Mr. Granger nodded, re-examining the article. "If all this business true, I might just take you up on that offer for rent," he joked.

"But what does all this mean you're in any sort of trouble? I mean – not to be insensitive – but people die all the time. Entailment should be a fairly easy process should it not? What's all this to do with..?" Mrs. Granger trailed off.

"My uncle – he is, or was, I guess – a vice president for Grunnings. He was angry because his job was put in jeopardy by the account freeze, and he blamed me. We were having an," Harry paused, searching for a more benign term, "Argument, of sorts. And I think when Mr. Weasley came to break it up, the spellfire attracted some unwanted attention."

Hermione frowned, not having known what had triggered the confrontation.

"Deatheaters attacked. But the reason why the argument escalated to the point that Mr. Weasley had to help is that I tried to leave a few days before. I had an accident with my magic because I was angry. My uncle and I were having an argument before then, and instead of staying, I left. Dumbledore stopped me, and to keep me from doing any more accidental magic, he did something to me. If he hadn't, my Uncle would have been to scared to… well, argue with me as he did."

Hermione's brows had furrowed, and she searched Harry's face for a long moment before she gasped, her eyes wide with fury.

"He _attacked_ you, didn't he? You should have _told_ me!"

"It doesn't make a difference," said Harry quietly, looking away from the Mr. and Mrs. Granger's pitying gazes. "And he's gone now, so…"

The Grangers, including Hermione, exchanged looks of concern for Harry's sudden bitterness. Mrs. Granger, sensing the tension, immediately changed the subject.

"So the goblins gave you a ledger, Harry?" she asked kindly, gesturing to the thick tome in his lap. "Would you mind if we all look over it? I'm sure such an old book would be fascinating."

"Sure," Harry answered with an easy smile.

Mrs. Granger responded in kind, her compassionate face lighting up with her grin.

Harry got up from his seat, bringing the heavy, leather-bound book to the coffee table. He sat on the floor with Hermione beside him as he opened it up. Mr. and Mrs. Granger joined him and their daughter on the floor much to Harry's surprise. Harry opened the book to the first page and was surprised to discover that this first entry was dated 1522.

"Extraordinary," Mr. Granger gasped as Harry ran a finger over the date.

Immediately, the text on the yellowed page disappeared and was replaced by elegant script dancing in perfect lines over its surface.

"Lord Cronus Black, Earl of Suffolk, paid 120 of 1500 Galleons to Lord Bennet Potter, Duke of Somerset, concerning release of marriage contract for future children. Paid in full 12 March 1523," Hermione read aloud. "This is incredible, Harry!"

"This was your godfather's ledger?" Mr. Granger asked.

Harry nodded, flipping curiously through the earliest entries.

"Perhaps we should focus on the transactions Sirius on," Mrs. Granger suggested. "We can probably assume he set his affairs in order before he passed."

"Right," said Harry as he flipped through the book to the last entries.

His heart gave a pang of remorse for his lost parents as he began seeing Sirius's name and the accompanying dates.

"200 galleons, paid to Comet Broom Company, for children's low-speed hover broom, July 31, 1980. That's my first birthday," Harry laughed.

"A broomstick before you're even big enough to lift your own head?"

He must have been excited to be a godfather. I bought my nephew a football when he was born. He uses it well enough now."

"1,500 galleons paid to Rufus Spudmore Broom Company, for one Firebolt racing broom," he read, smiling fondly.

"And here… 23,411 galleons paid to Carthaginian Refurbishing and Renovation, October 1995," read Hermione, her lower lip disappearing between her teeth.

"What was he refurbishing? Definitely not Headquarters," laughed Harry. He still vividly remembered the doxies and various containers of foul-looking materials.

Hermione searched the pages for other properties, and found a few, although the descriptions did not seem to indicate much space or worth. rrThey perused the book at leisure as they drained their teacups, making a comment or sound now and again at the figures indicated by the ledger, and the things purchased or sold. Hermione finally nodded and Harry closed the book, satisfied that everything was probably in order there.

"It's a total 174,839 galleons," she said, pausing and tilting her head as she thought "Or £874,195."

"Well, you're quite well off now, to state it lightly," quipped Mr. Granger.

"I suppose you'll have to claim your title before you can get the Potter ledger, based on what the Director said," mused Hermione.

"I was hoping you'd forget actually. I'm not sure I'll be able…" Harry trailed off, his face a clear depiction of discomfort.

"Ragnok didn't seem to think you would have any problem. Go ahead and try," Hermione said gently.

Harry looked to the encouraging and curious faces around the room and Harry sighed. He closed his eyes and tried to feel his magic. The others in the room remained quiet, watching with baited breath. Suddenly, there was a bright white flash of light, and Harry fell forward across the table.

"Harry!" gasped Hermione, rushing forward.

He groaned, rubbing his head. A gold signet ring glowed on the ring finger of his right hand.

"Are you quite alright?" Mrs. Granger had come around the table. "I think that's quite enough for today."

The mother said it with the sort of authority that brooked no argument. She rose, patting Harry on the hand as he sat up slowly.

"Let's have dinner and talk about your plans for the rest of the summer. I think we've all had enough excitement for now," she continued with a genial smile. "Hermione, dear, make sure Harry knows where the loft and the bathroom are."

"Yes, mum," chirped Hermione.

Her mouth spread into a grin as she took Harry's hand and pulled him from the library. She led him up the stairs and to a narrow door off the main corridor, barely pausing to allow Harry to retrieve his belongings from the reception room door.

"We just renovated a couple of years ago. Although, the only people who ever stay are my relatives when they visit. It's not much, but I hope you'll be comfortable," she said excitedly as the pushed the door open.

The loft over the garage had once been attic space, and held two windows looking out onto the street. The sloping ceiling came to an end at a short wall. It held a nondescript door, which Harry supposed gave access to storage and perhaps electrical connections. A full size bed stood with its headboard against the far wall, flanked on either side by a low chest of drawers. Harry put his bags on a large, comfortable looking armchair to the left of the bed before turning to smile at his friend.

"It's brilliant, Hermione," said Harry warmly as he sat on the bed.

He sighed in exhaustion before lying back, his knees and feet still dangling off the edge. Hermione lay down beside him, her arm thrown haphazardly over his chest. Harry held the limb to his torso as he turned to look his long-time friend.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked softly, her warm brown eyes searching Harry's thin face.

"No," answered Harry. "I'm not sure what to think. I can't forgive Dumbledore for ignoring me all year and locking my magic. I can't forgive myself for falling into Voldemort's trap. I can't deal with the fact that the only relatives I've ever had are either severely injured or dead…" he gulped a deep breath, closing his eyes. "It's a lot to take in."

The two lay in silence for a moment in which Hermione scooted closer to Harry, her head against his shoulder and her arms wrapped around him in a gesture of comfort. Harry revelled in the simple joy of having someone to rely on so deeply, and he happily accepted Hermione's affection.

"Thank you," he murmured, looking at the ceiling instead of at the girl beside him.

"What for, Harry?" she asked, equally muted.

"For being you."

Hermione smiled, turning to place a soft kiss on Harry's cheek. Harry, feeling her sudden movement, shifted to look at his friend only to feel her lips make contact with his. The soft brush, mere moments long, drew a gasp from Hermione's lips as her eyes widened and met Harry's suddenly intense gaze. Her cheeks flushed dark pink and she scrambled to sit up, but Harry wound his hands gently in Hermione's hair, his thumbs tracing the blush on her cheeks, and pulled her close once more. Their lips met for a second time in a chaste, but lingering kiss. Harry's lips parted against Hermione's in askance as her hands moved to rest against his chest.

"Harry, Hermione!" Mrs. Granger called from downstairs.

They froze, both flushing scarlet.

"I'm ordering take-away pizza from Lorenzo's. Do you want anything in particular?"

The moment broken, the two teens pulled away from each other. Hermione glanced at Harry, who shook his head in denial to Mrs. Granger's question.

"No, mum! Just order whatever you and Dad want!" Hermione called back from the doorway.

"Alright, darling. Remember to show Harry the bathroom."

"Okay!" Hermione looked back at Harry, the blush not yet fully faded from her cheeks. She gestured somewhat weakly out the door. "Do you want to see the rest of the house, Harry?" she asked without meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry nodded jerkily and followed Hermione out into the corridor again.

"Loo's there… Towels are in the linen closet inside. Feel free to use whatever you like… Erm…" they passed the open door of the neat, magazine-worthy bathroom to a medium sized bedroom. "This is my room," Hermione said slowly, opening the door.

Harry smiled at the white, built-in bookcases lining the walls. They were filled to the brim with books. The bookcase nearest the bed, which also acted as a nightstand, held Hermione's schoolbooks from previous years. The bed was constructed of white painted brass. The four posts curled into an intricate canopy over the bed, which was hung with sheer gossamer. The white bedspread was embroidered with red and yellow roses. Harry tried to imagine Hermione here as a child, reading in the centre of her bed, and smiled.

"Did you ever play with toys as a little girl, Hermione?" Harry asked in sudden curiosity as Hermione led him back downstairs to the main living area.

She switched on a large flat-screen television with a laugh.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Harry responded a little self-consciously. "I don't really see you playing like a little kid, even when you were one."

"You'd be right," responded Hermione ruefully. "But I did have a cast of plush animals to act out the parts of books I liked. And a puppet stage. It's folded up in that storage space in the loft…" she trailed off, blushing at Harry's intent expression.

Hermione stared up at him as Harry watched his friend with new appreciation. In the five years he had known her, Hermione had grown into an attractive young woman, indeed. Her hair, though comprised of thick curls, could no longer be described as the bushy mess it had once been. It shone prettily in the sunshine and with a more muted luminescence under the incandescent bulbs of the house. Her smile was charming, and her rich brown eyes drew Harry in whenever he looked at her.

He wondered vaguely if she had enjoyed the brief kiss they shared, and if he should be worried that he felt so perfectly happy about it. After all, she was his best friend. The implications of the feelings Harry now suspected he possessed would reach further than he and Hermione. Ron, whom Harry assumed to fancy Hermione, would not take well to such news. But it would seem, since Hermione had allowed Harry to kiss her again, that perhaps _she_ did not hold the same feelings for _Ron_.

'Where does that leave me?' Harry thought to himself as he looked once more at his pretty bookworm friend.

Was he supposed to ignore his growing feelings for Hermione if Ron could not cope with rejection? The thought of losing his first real friend pained Harry, so he quickly discarded the notion. The two continued the tour before coming to rest in the den, the television humming idly in the background while the teens sat with two feet between them on the large, comfortable sofa.

"Dinner's here," said Mrs. Granger from the kitchen after nearly half an hour of virtual silence.

Harry and Hermione rose simultaneously and followed her into the kitchen.

Unlike the Dursley's stark white kitchen and informal dining room, the Grangers' eating area conveyed all that was warm and inviting. Children's drawings decorated the refrigerator, and the bright oak cabinets shone with well-maintained varnish. Hermione and Harry moved in unison to help Mrs. Granger set the table with plates, and Mr. Granger went to the fridge for a pitcher of lemonade.

"Is there anything else you need help with, Mrs. Granger?" Harry offered politely as he pulled Hermione's seat out for her.

The mother smiled at the display and shook her head no.

"We'll discuss your duties and anything else you would like to talk about over dinner. Just take a seat, Harry," answered Mrs. Granger, opening up the pizza box and sliding the cardboard platter into the middle of the table. Mr. Granger brought a large, plastic wrap covered salad to the table.

"Salad, Harry?" he asked genially, offering the tongs after discarding the cellophane.

The meal proceeded in marked contrast with any Harry had experienced at the Weasley table. It was peaceful and companionable, with light talk about the Granger's work and Hermione's weekend. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were eager to hear more about Hogwarts from someone other than her daughter, whom they rightly assumed kept more frightening details to herself. Harry, though wary of their knowledge and Hermione's privacy, answered with more honesty and openness than Hermione had ever dared.

"Yes, it can be dangerous," said Harry after addressing Mr. Granger's questions about their last year at school, "but we are learning a lot. And not just academics – politics, survival, loyalty… I would have never ranked Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood among the most reliable people I know, but they proved that to me this year."

"Tell us truthfully, Harry," started Mrs. Granger after sharing a look with her husband. "How bad is this war Hermione's been telling us about? Should you two really be returning to school?"

Harry looked to Hermione, who searched his face and nodded solemnly. It was the first time since the awkward aftermath of the kiss that she had met his eye.

"We've been fighting it since first year," Harry admitted. "That business with the rogue teacher – it was Voldemort who possessed the professor. Second year, it was one of _his _belongings that caused Slytherin's monster to be released. Third year, Sirius broke out of Azkaban to take out one of Voldemort's undercover servants, and the rat escaped. Which led to fourth year, when he got his body back, and last…" Harry could not finish as his mind was forced once again to the events of the Department of Mysteries.

He looked to Hermione for assistance and she quickly obliged.

"This, all of what we're seeing on the telly and in the _Prophet_, is just the culmination of everything Harry's been fighting since we were eleven," Hermione clarified with marked regret. "I'm not entirely sure if it's _sane_ to go back to school, Mum, but I know that Harry's needed there. I'm sorry, but you can't make me stay home, either," she concluded with such conviction that Harry could not help but smile.

"Well," Mr. Granger expelled with a sigh, "We knew to expect something to that effect, but we rather hoped we would not have to discuss it for a while, yet." Mr. Granger paused and caught his daughter's gaze. "We know you've been bewitched – excuse the pun – by the wizarding world. We guessed that you would choose one path over the other eventually, what with spending more holidays with your school friends and being more secretive-"

"Daddy, I-" interrupted Hermione with an apology on her lips.

Her eyes had gone wide with her father's admission. She clasped Harry's hand for comfort as she looked between her parents in growing panic.

"No, dear, let him finish," admonished Mrs. Granger gently.

Hermione's mouth snapped shut and Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders bracingly as Mr. Granger continued.

"Hermione, we just want you to know that you don't have to exclude us. I know we couldn't stop you from getting involved if we tried, and at this point it's probably too late to make a bid for that anyway," chuckled Mr. Granger. "We just want you to tell us the truth. We want to know what you're doing and we want to help when we can. There's a lot out there that most people can't understand or explain, and you're a part of that world… Just, don't disappear on us, sweetheart. If you need to fight, fine. Just let us know what you're fighting and how we can help you. We don't want you to feel as if you don't have our support, because you always have and always will."

The sincere exclamation hung in the air and Harry smiled gently at his suddenly tearful companion. Hermione's shoulders shook with her sobs for a moment more before she launched herself from her seat and wrapped her arms around her father.

"Thank you Daddy, Mum," she gasped between sobs, clinging to them. "I was so worried! I… I..! Mum, I thought I'd have to _obliviate_ you and send you both away if things… Oh, oh…"

Hermione's words dissolved into nonsensical mutters between heart-wrenching sobs. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and Harry, in witnessing the exchange, once again experienced the guilt and gratitude he always felt when it came to his friends. Hermione's admission that she would have obliviated her own parents shook him. That she would, and had seemed to be planning upon sacrificing so much to help Harry in his endeavours touched him deeply. His heart swelled at the sight of both parents embracing their child.

"I promise you, Mrs. and Mr. Granger, I won't let anything happen to Hermione," Harry swore vehemently, the promise solidifying in his chest as two sets of brown and one pair of blue eyes met his.

"Harry," gasped Hermione, pulling Harry into a hug.

She buried her tear-streaked face into Harry's shirt and Harry uncomplainingly stroked Hermione's back without any of the awkwardness he had come to associate with crying women. It occurred to Harry that her tears did not make him uncomfortable as Cho's had, nor did they frighten him.

"Please, Harry. It's Jean and Tom."

The conversation picked up again, and this time, the youths left out no details as they recounted their time at school.

"So… where do we go from here?" sniffled Hermione. "We know what Sirius implied, and Professor Dumbledore's behaviour is inexcusable, but he's still the biggest force against you-know-who."

"I can't trust him anymore. I'm tired of everyone expecting me to sit quietly without any explanations when I'm the one who's faced him so many bloody times," Harry grumbled vindictively.

"Harry has a point," said Mr. Granger, his brows drawn together in contemplation. "The man you've described to me is both politically and magically powerful, knowledgeable, and given how much trouble you've gotten into, I strongly suspect he may have manipulated the situation. Considering the amount of trouble you've been allowed to get into despite his supposed power and knowledge, I would have to think that he wanted you to deal with those things disregarding prior training or information."

"Perhaps the best policy as of right now would be to wait and see," Jean frowned. "You don't know how much power you wield, yet. If you were a muggle, you'd be eligible to sit in Parliament in a couple of years. Politically, you'd still have considerable sway in the press, and in public policy. A lot of people would want to ride with you into power."

"I don't want to be a politician," said Harry with obvious distaste. "Every one I've ever known has either been a coward or a slimy git."

"But _you_ aren't either those things. You could at least have the power to protect yourself from others," said Hermione. "I'd have to double-check a law text, but I don't think even the Minister can touch you, now, since your titles and seats are inherited. I think he'd have to get the Wizengamot and the Queen's approval to remove your title."

"I think it all comes down to whatever information you'll be receiving in the next couple of days," concluded Jean. "I would say, don't let anyone know that you have reached your majority and do as much as you can to learn everything about your position. In the meantime, you can unravel everything Sirius has left for you and make your decisions in secret. It sounds as if there are a lot of people whom you've kept close that need further consideration before judgement."

"I was thinking about that," Harry admitted. "I'm not too keen on accusing Ron or anyone of anything, especially when there isn't much proof of it. I'm going to be careful, though, and try to evaluate everyone fairly. I _need_ friends I can rely on."

"Both of us do," Hermione agreed, squeezing Harry's hand.

He gave her a wry smile.

"There's a problem we need to tackle immediately though, if that's our plan."

"What's that, sweetheart?" asked Mr. Granger with a jovial smile on his face once more. "I thought those were the bulk of your issues thus far."

"We need a way to communicate with the Wizarding world, without exposing Harry," Hermione reminded them. "I think it's in his best interests to stay away from the Order and Ministry until he's armed with the right information. Hedwig's too recognizable to even carry hi post."

"Why don't I try to call Dobby?" said Harry suddenly, interrupting the debate between Hermione and her mum. "He's never let me down. Maybe Dumbledore didn't give him a good enough reason to look for me. We can let him in on what's going on, and that way we'll have someone listening around at Hogwarts."

"Oh! I nearly forgot. He couldn't because some of the oldest Wizarding houses have family wards that are tied to the entailment. Even elves and owls can't find them unless they want to be found," she gushed. "I learned that when I was doing my research for S.P.E.W. But lets finish your letters to Gringotts first. Dobby won't be very patient once he arrives. And I'm sure Dumbledore will be watching him."

"Right, okay. Letters first, then."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger cleaned up despite Harry's offers to help, and the two teens settled in to planning. The first order of business, a request for the Potter Wills, an audit of all activities conducted with the Potter accounts since 31 October 1981, and a letter of gratitude ware sealed and signed and placed to the side of the kitchen table before Harry and Hermione began composing a request for a new Gringotts-appointed account manager. By Mr. Granger's suggestion, they also wrote in a request to make inquiries with barristers and solicitors to examine why the Potter Will was sealed in the first place and to arrange a meeting with Harry at a later date. In total, the letter to Gringotts encompassed three feet of parchment.

Also in response to Tom's suggestion, Harry decided to approve the unfreezing of Potter assets. He understood that the action would keep the Grunnings stocks from losing total value and that Dudley might have some more money coming to him, since his father had stock before the attack. Harry also resolved to visit his cousin when he could. Dudley deserved an explanation for why his parents were gone, at least. It's what Harry had wanted, after all.

Finally, when it was approaching midnight, Harry turned to Hermione with a grimace on his face.

"I think I need to do some shopping."

"Why such a sour face for that?"

"Well, it's going to be a lot… Since I don't have to go back to the Dursleys', and since I need to meet with people and look presentable doing it, I need new everything."

"We can go into town tomorrow," said Jean from the doorway of the kitchen. She had changed into her nightclothes and had a dressing gown pulled around her. "What do you mean 'new everything'?"

"I've never had new clothes, and everything I have is too big or too worn. I only managed to grab a rucksack and my school bag when I left Number 4, so…"

"Well, then. We shall go early while Thomas is at the office."

"I'm sorry for imposing. I really would like to pay rent, or help around the house. I'm a good cook and fair at gardening," said Harry quickly, misreading Jean's expression.

"No, not at all, dear. You're a guest. Just pick up after yourself. That's all we expect of Hermione and we would never ask more from any of our friends."

"Thanks, Mrs. Granger," said Harry with a shy smile.

"You're very welcome, Harry. And it's Jean, darling."

Harry felt his ears go hot as he returned Mrs. Granger's warm smile. She turned to rinse a teacup and shelve dried dishes. Harry and Hermione reread their letter to Gringotts in companionable silence.

"And now, my dears, I think it is time for bed," said Mrs. Granger finally with a sweeping gesture to the stairs.

Tired smiles on their faces, Harry and Hermione put up their work and happily retired to their beds. In the renovated attic made loft, Harry haphazardly removed his clothes and sank beneath the thick coverlet on the bed. His head had yet to hit the pillow when he slid blissfully into the land of dreams.

. . . . . . . . . .

AN: £874,195=about $1,350,456.44 US. Hope you've enjoyed this instalment.


	4. Note

My wonderful readers,

You're probably wondering where the rest of this story is, as I started this years ago and have yet to complete it. I cannot express the gratitude I feel to you all for still finding interest in _Harry Potter and the Greater Good_. You cannot imagine how I've felt as I've read your words of encouragement.

Therefore, it pains me to admit I've lost the inspiration behind this story. Although I do plan on continuing and finishing it as soon as I can, I've decided it would be an injustice to the adventure I intended it to be if I pushed or rushed it. So, I'm sorry to say it is indefinitely suspended until I can find the spark that motivated me to write it in the first place.

I do promise it will be completed. I just feel you deserve the best of my work if I'm to do it at all.

I thank you for your patience and indulgence in the meantime.

Much love,

Forensica X


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